


A Single Blue Rose

by SHSLshortie



Series: A Single Blue Rose — The Series [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Disease, Alternate Universe - Hanahaki Disease, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Victor does not become Yuuri's Coach, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergent, Graphic Description, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M, Major Illness, NaNoWriMo, NaNoWriMo 2018, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-07-18 19:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 77,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16125581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SHSLshortie/pseuds/SHSLshortie
Summary: Two years ago, a fatal disease started spreading across the entire world, affecting nearly 1 in 8 adults. This was known as Hanahaki Disease.Hanahaki Disease is a death sentence unless the one afflicted can find the cure — their soulmate.++++++++++So what will become of the young skater, Yuuri Katsuki, who, on the verge of retiring from competitive figure skating... suddenly begins to choke. But instead of anything he could have expected, he coughed up a single blue rose.From that moment on, Yuuri is faced with only two options: to find his soulmate, or continue figure skating anddie.





	1. "You Seem Like an Unattainable Dream"

# Chapter 1

###  _A Single Blue Rose **—** "You Seem Like an Unattainable Dream."_

 

Chocolate eyes shot open as an immense pain coursed through his body. It was pitch black, probably some time between 2 a.m. and dawn. Either way — he wouldn't have been able to see between his terrible glasses-less vision and the blinding pain.

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of his semi-conscious body; but when his instinct told him to cough, the horrible feeling instead multiplied with an added nausea that instantly took over.

In the sudden urgency and panic, he bolted for the bathroom — both desperate for relief and a place other than his clean bed to break down. Without even a second look at the mirror, Yuuri doubled over in front of the toilet, almost in sieza, before a catastrophic coughing attack shook his entire body.

Wheezing and gagging and hacking and _still_ nothing seemed to improve his body's attempt to exorcise whatever demon had possessed his lungs.

Bile rushed into his mouth and the nausea intensified, as did the coughing. Breathing became nearly impossible, and if Yuuri hadn't already known that he 1) did not have asthma, and 2) was not at risk for early heart failure, he would have been sure that he was _dying_  at that current moment.

Suddenly, with a much needed gasp of air and an attempt to spit out the pooling bile, Yuuri could finally feel the vomit coming. With that, he leaned over the toilet and braced himself.

However, instead of a stream of chunky liquid and death, what Yuuri felt was _solid_. On instinct, he covered his mouth with a hand to catch whatever had come up. After a few more whooping coughs racked his body, finally enough delirium had passed for Yuuri to finally be able to open his eyes.

What he saw when he did... was _blue._

A bright blur of royal blue clouded Yuuri's vision. Even through his poor eyesight, aching head and exhaustion filled being, Yuuri _knew_ that this blue was a bad omen.

When the overwhelming urge to cough and gasp for air had dulled severely, he finally pulled himself onto his feet. From that spot on the cold linoleum, Yuuri walked back to the other room to catch his breath and inspect _whatever_ he had just coughed up.

Finally, after a treacherous and dizzying journey to his bedside table, Yuuri reached for his thin blue frames that granted him the power to see. Pale hands trembled to affix the lenses on his face, before all color drained from it.

What Yuuri saw was death: a single blue rose.

Yuuri Katsuki had just been sentenced to death. 

+++++++++

Day 0. Nearly two years ago, an epidemic had changed the whole face of the world. Ever since that dark day, nearly 1 in 8 adults had contracted the disease. With no vaccine or hope for a cure in sight.

It was known as Hanahaki Disease.

Without a scientific or even identifiable cause, and with no regard to logic or reason — flowers began to grow inside of adult lungs. In turn, gradually killing the victim from the inside out by strangling their source of air, and even puncturing holes by way of thorns or the growth of deep roots. Seemingly at random, or as some would say "Divine Will", the curse began afflicting people from all across the world with deadly ubiquity.

The first sign of Hanahaki was a pain in the abdomen; closely followed by nausea, shortness of breath and scratching of the throat. Within a day of these symptoms, the first growth and expulsion of petals — and even whole flowers in the most severe cases — could be seen.

Somewhere else in the world, at that _exact_ moment, the victim's kismet soulmate would also enter the first stage of the disease and exhibit symptoms. From that moment on — the clock began to tick.

Symptoms varied wildly from patient to patient. Some, unfortunately enough, ended up under an almost constant barrage of asthmatic symptoms and flower production. Others might wait months in between floral attacks for symptoms to flare up. While the gestation periods of each floral growth varied and were random at best, there were a few definites that were undoubtedly true about Hanahaki. 

 

 

 

> 1) Without _physically_ coming into contact with your divinely bound soulmate while suffering from the disease, a person's Hanahaki would never be cured. Most people had a life expectancy between 6 months and 2 years, but the majority of people could count on a good year and a half. However, the mortality rate for carriers who entered the final stage of Hanahaki soulmateless? 100%
> 
> 2) Each soulmate pair contains the same exact strain of Hanahaki within their body. While the symptoms, order and expeditiousness of the disease might still vary even within a pair of soulmates, they will produce the same exact floral growths. Matching the flowers is the only sure-fire indicator of a soul bond.
> 
> 3) There is only one known "treatment" available on the market to combat Hanahaki. "Suppressants" can be prescribed by doctors and small doses are usually available over the counter at most pharmacies, but they are controversial at best. The drugs have not been approved for long-term use because of the stark side effects. Loss of floral growth for extended periods of time, congestion and blockage of flowers, retaliatory growth, a shortened lifespan and even cardiac arrest are just some of the side effects.
> 
> While still controversial, for some, there is no other option because of travel, work, athletic activities or other medical conditions — which is why they are still available.
> 
> 4) Once a soul pair meets, the growth of flowers will stop and their Hanahaki will enter remission before all traces of the disease are cleared out of their blood system. However, that is not the only thing that occurs. In a process which (just like the disease itself) defies all laws of science, physics, logic and even common sense, the floral growths are somehow transformed into a matching tattoo that can be found somewhere on a soulmate's body. While the reason and meaning behind these tattoos is highly debated in terms of use and symbolism, soul tattoos are widely accepted as one of the only traits to identify a pair of soulmates outside of the disease itself.
> 
> For some lucky people, their only experience with Hanahaki was waking up to find a tattoo somewhere on their body over night, and to find a matching one on their spouse or significant other's body.

 

Fate was kind to these people.

To Yuuri Katsuki? Not so much.

Fate had given Yuuri an ultimatum — and very little say in how the rest of his life was going to play out. The death sentence now growing inside of his body only left him with two real options. To find his soulmate — or die.

While the first option sounded easy enough, there were several caveats that made that option less than ideal in Yuuri's eyes. It was a fairly normal occurrence for people to take a year off from school, or to even retire early in order to search for their soulmate. Theoretically, Yuuri could not have been in a more perfect position if he had wanted to do that. Having just graduated from college 3 months earlier, and also having been victim of the figure skating world's rumor mill meant that retirement would not be out of the question...

Yuuri's heart grew weary at the thought.

Sure, just this past season, two of his fellow competitors had made Hanahaki-related retirement announcements. It wouldn't be strange for Yuuri to join them and exit the spotlight just like they had.

The Chinese champion — Cao Bin — had announced his retirement shortly after the Grand Prix Final and made his diagnosis public. No one thought any less of him — actually, people even _discouraged_ him from competing at Four Continents and Worlds until he had found his soulmate and recovered properly. But at age 29, it would probably be too late for him to make a return to competitive figure skating.

Cao Bin's only response was: "I have the rest of my life to find my soulmate. What are another 3-4 months of skating if I'm doing what I love?"

Those words which Yuuri had paid no attention to at the Grand Prix Final press conference were now the only thing running through his mind. That day was previously the worst day of his life because he had failed on the biggest stage he had ever competed on. Yuuri had let his useless emotions and anxiety cripple him. Not only did he fail his country, but he made a fool of himself in front of his  _idol._ Of course Cao Bin's words (along with everything else at that god forsaken press conference) had gone in one ear and out the other. But now on the  _new_ worst day of his life, those words were all Yuuri could think about. 

On the complete other end of the spectrum was Jean-Jacques Leroy.

At barely 18 years old, the reigning Grand Prix Final bronze medalist and Four Continents champion had contracted Hanahaki Disease. 

Apparently while JJ had previously always acted the "playboy" since his senior debut, and had surrounded himself with attractive female skaters and fans alike, his diagnosis had blossomed a real change of heart. Between the Grand Prix Final in Sochi and Worlds, there was a dramatic character shift. Just that night in a sideline interview after JJ had placed second in the Short Program, he openly talked about his bout with Hanahaki Disease, which he had come down with shortly after the Grand Prix Final. He then dedicated his performance at Worlds that weekend to his "wonderful, perfect and breath-taking soulmate — Isabella Yang" who he had found a few weeks prior. During the “Top 3” press conference that was held after the Short Program earlier that night, Jean-Jacques made an announcement that he would be taking an early retirement after Worlds in order to spend time with his soulmate and prepare for their wedding. They also announced plans to travel the world on a mission trip in order to give back to the world that had gifted the soul pair life and love — obviously having been changed by their brush with death.

However after the touching announcement, in true "JJ-Style", the Canadian claimed that he would be making a "JJ-Style comeback!" in 2 years time — and that the skating world shouldn't get too comfortable without him standing atop the podium.

Just thinking about his fellow competitors and their respective choices left Yuuri with a heavy weight on his chest as he contemplated his own future. Not only had he had to try and shield himself from the Worlds' coverage and gossip from this weekend, but now he had to deal with _this_. It left a melancholy numbness in his heart even as Cao Bin's words echoed in his mind. 

At the very most, Yuuri Katsuki had 2 years to live. So what else did he have to lose?

See, Yuuri didn't believe in those "soulmate matching apps". Sure, it seemed like  _everyone_ was finding their soulmate online these days. Whether it was on apps like Bloom, SoulFindr or Petal-Picker, they all seemed to claim "magical results" and all of that bull-crap. But with 7 billion people on Earth and the vast expanse of the world wide web, what were the chances that Yuuri Katsuki would somehow manage to find his soulmate that easily? 

Luck had never really been on Yuuri's side, so he knew he was going to have to take his fate into his own hands. And that meant that  _no one_ was going to determine what the rest of his life would look like. 

To retire from competitive figure skating, and resign himself to searching the world for his soulmate... or continue doing what he loves, and finally make a name for himself by redeeming his upsetting end to the last season... even if it meant his death.

As his anxiety began to race, Yuuri knew there was only one way to make his decision.

+++++++++

The entire next day was filled with Yuuri trying to somehow get back to sleep after the incident earlier that morning, and just playing it off as trying to fix his “jet-lag”. After a whole 5 years without visiting Hatsetsu, and especially after Vicchan’s recent passing, Yuuri couldn’t bring himself to tell his family. At least not yet.

Finally around 7 p.m., Minako managed to drag Yuuri’s sorry ass out of bed to go down and watch the Men’s Free Skate in the lobby of the inn. Even though Yuuri knew that his old ballet instructor was trying to make him feel better, and help him get of his funk, Yuuri didn’t know if he could take seeing all of his friends competing on the very ice that he had been so hyped to skate on all season.

Of course Yuuri was happy for them. Many of his friends that he had met over the years at competitions were the best in their country, so _of course_ they would be competing at World Championships. Being able to see his best friend and rinkmate competing for the first time at Worlds was amazing. It made Yuuri’s heart happy to see that smiling Thai boy’s face in the Kiss and Cry with their coach upon hearing his scores, and it was even better getting to see how long he managed to stay in first place. That score had landed him steadily ahead of everyone else until that Czech Quad-monster, Emil had skated his first no-fall program of the season, and ended up in first by like 20 points.

However when the announcement for the final warm up group came... Yuuri couldn’t take it. A small tickle in his throat triggered the sudden need to be anywhere but around people; but unlike usually, Yuuri couldn’t tell if it was because of the overwhelming urge to cry or to cough up another few petals.

Yuuri was supposed to be there in Tokyo _right now_. That whole season, everyone in the skating world had said that it was finally Japan’s year to be competitive. Sure, they had almost always had at least one “world level skater” that would crack the top 10 each year at worlds... but a champion? Japan was never even in the conversation. Even being considered a contender for a medal? Almost equally as unlikely, according to most commentators and figure skating forums.

But not last season. Apparently after  _whatever_ Yuuri had done at the championship competitions last season, his name was getting thrown around like dollar bills at a strip club. Yuuri never understood why in gods name anyone would ever expect a dime-a-dozen skater like him to actually be able to compete with the big names like Victor Nikiforov, Christophe Giacometti or Cao Bin... but according to Phichit (who actually  _loved_ looking through the skating forums to find new gossip),  **everyone** was saying that Yuuri could be the one to finally de-throne Victor. He had to hold back the urge to gag at that thought; and Yuuri honestly had no clue if it was from how disgusted Yuuri was with himself, or from his disease. But he didn't have time to deal with that bull shit  _now,_ on top of everything else that Yuuri was feeling. 

Even though Yuuri  _knew_ that all of that hype was completely unsubstantiated, and even though he  _knew_ that he could never even hope to reach that level, he made the mistake of believing it after he won gold at the NHK Trophy. Yuuri had never won gold in  _anything_ before, much less a Grand Prix qualifier. After some big name retirement rumors like Weir, Oda and Plushenko, Yuuri actually began to think he had a chance. Then he only placed 4th at the Rostelecom Cup at the end of November. There were so many claims of "underscoring" — and Yuuri foolishly thought that _maybe_ they were right. 

Which they weren't. Looking back, Yuuri couldn't even fathom how naive he had been to think that  _he_ could have been _underscored_. 

But still, somehow even through the overwhelming evidence that Yuuri Katsuki was just your average figure skater that just so happened to represent Japan not only in the Grand Prix series and the Challenger Series, but also at Four Continents and Worlds... Yuuri had let himself think that he actually had a shot at the Grand Prix Final.

That was a joke. Yuuri Katsuki's anxiety wouldn't let him have nice things. A gold medal here and there? Sure. A miraculous Grand Prix Final berth? Surprising, but after a gold it would have been harder _not to_ qualify. But to actually have a chance? Not in Yuuri's wildest dreams.

He realized that he was just a koi fish from a small pond swimming in the deepest ocean, trying to compete against sharks and other creatures who _actually_ belonged there. It was so stark and sobering, and he could practically taste the blood in the water. To add insult to injury, not only did his anxiety cause him to binge eat everything within a 20 foot radius and make his skating costume too tight to zip-up... the death of his childhood pet was the true cherry on top of his failure cake. 

If Yuuri couldn't even make the time to go visit his family and his dog in the span of 5 years, what had he done to deserve a clean skate? Or even land any of his jumps... Of course after a performance like  _that,_ there were bound to be overwhelming retirement rumors going around. It's not like Yuuri was even injured or anything; he was a perfectly  _physically_ healthy 23 year-old Japanese man who had never had a sports-related injury in his life. But what other explanation could there be, besides his own incompetence. 

His performance at Nationals just proved those rumors were more than just unsubstantiated claims. If anyone had seriously thought that someone who placed  _12th_ at Japanese Nationals could ever be considered a "World contender", then they seriously needed to get higher standards.

Until now, Yuuri had thought he had made peace with his performance. He had successfully managed to ignore any and all coverage of 4CC, aside from Phichit's scream-texting when he had won bronze. Yuuri had thought that was enough. Apparently not, judging by how much it had  **hurt** to see the "Top 6 Skaters in the World" take the ice without his name being called. 

He had to get out of there. With a mumbled "I'm going to go practice" as his only salutation, he ran.

It might have been around 8 p.m., but his need to skate was almost as strong as it had been that morning after his first attack. The ice was his home, and skating was really the only way he could ever make sense of his jumbled, self-deprecating thoughts. The crisp, early spring dusk air that froze his skin as the wind rushed past him made him long for the ice underneath his skates. Little clouds of warm breath floated around him as he finally reached the entrance. He panted from the combination of exhaustion that came from physical exercise, cold and being awake for  _way_ too long.

With a shaky breath, Yuuri pushed open the familiar door that he had not seen in 5 years, but still somehow felt like home. Immediately, the familiar smell of skates, clean ice and the pure essence of "Ice Castle Hatsetsu" entered his lungs — instantly comforting Yuuri. It transported him to an easier time; a nostalgic sense of what skating  _used_ to be for Yuuri overtook his whole being. It reminded him that skating was really his _home_. 

When the little chime that signaled the opening of the front door to the rink  _clinked,_ a familiar and spritely voice called out a greeting. 

"Our regular hours are over —"

A small smile lifted the corners of Yuuri's mouth as he recognized his old friend. "It's been a while, Yuuko-san."

The aforementioned woman whipped her head around with a gasp. Her golden brown hair flew around, and she left her previous task of cleaning out the lockers and organizing the rentable skates for a later time. 

Yuuko then ran to the front counter and practically squealed. "Yuuri-kun?!??!?! Oh come on! Call me Yuu-chan!" Her gentle face lit up with a genuine and excited smile as she saw her old rinkmate. After a short moment of noticing the younger man's awkward fidgeting, she remembered their old pattern of her trying to make Yuuri more comfortable and bringing him out of his shell. "Oh, you came to skate, right? Go ahead!"

Yuuri's eyes widened. "H-huh? I can?!"

She just playfully rolled her eyes. " You just want to skate alone for now, right?" Then with a genuine smile, she finished. "I'll protect you."

Another emotional sense of nostalgia filled Yuuri's head with memories, and he could vividly remember Yuuko's words from when they were all still in high school. " _I hope I can see you compete against Victor soon!"_ The memory caused tears to well in his eyes, and he could only respond with a smile and a small nod of thanks. He was so grateful for his "chosen family" that he had found in his old friends, even after so long. Somehow Yuuko always knew what he needed, even when Yuuri was at his worst. But with another urge to cough and hack up  _something_ settled into his chest, Yuuri knew he didn't have time to reminisce. 

The walk to the rink was so familiar. Everything from the smell to the vintage carpet design, to the scuffs on the boards and the uncomfortable metal benches in the locker room felt as if Yuuri had never even left in the first place. He quickly laced up his boots, and laid his guards next to his bag before taking the ice. 

After taking a few laps to warm up his feet and letting the ice cool off some of his jitters, Yuuri skated towards where Yuuko was sitting at on the side near center ice. He locked eyes with Yuuko, and gently folded his glasses before placing them in her outstretched hands, already prepared to take them. 

"Um, I wanted you to see this... so I've been practicing it since the competition season ended for me. Please watch."

He said that as he began skating towards center ice, and Yuuri assumed an all-too-familiar and all-too-iconic starting pose.

It only took a split second before Yuuko recognized what Yuuri was about to perform.

"Huh?! This is —"

Even without music, just standing in the faux-casual pose where Yuuri could stand proud while looking down at the ice, and take a much needed breath before he began, made him somehow feel  _connected_ to Victor. That needed breath was getting harder to take, but Yuuri attributed it to the cold of the ice and his own nerves. 

If Yuuko had said anything else, Yuuri had missed it — too engrossed in the gentle horns and strings that began playing in his mind. Yuuri knew every note, every step, every tremble of the baritone's voice, even without any music actually playing. 

Recreating Victor Nikiforov's programs had always brought a sense of clarity to Yuuri's skating. If he struggled on a jump, all he had to do was turn to Victor's example. If Yuuri needed a new goal or motivation, just one look at Victor could light a fire under Yuuri's ass. The graceful and powerful feeling that skating to _Stammi Vicino_ provided for him was more than enough to pull him out of his mind. 

Yuuri focused on the crisp pressure his blades were shooting into his legs, instead of the growing pressure in his lungs and throat. The _scrape_ of the ice flying with each deep edge and each spread eagle was music to his ears.

If Yuuri closed his eyes, he could almost forget that it was  _him_ skating and not actually Victor on the ice. Of course, that ever present  _tickle_ was more than enough to remind him that  _No, he was not Victor, and never would be._ Luckily, the adrenaline that had built from being out on the ice was enough to silence those thoughts of inadequacy for the time being. Even if Yuuri had to change some of the jumps due to lack of practice or just plain ineptitude, and even if Yuuri had no real confidence in his spins... that routine still made his heart flutter and his mind clear. 

The spread eagles reminded him of how spread _thin_ his life was. The steps, an all out plea to the gods to let him keep skating while he was still alive. A true last-ditch upheaval of everything that Yuuri could do and feel, all thrown onto the ice in order to prove his worth. He was reaching,  _pining,_ longingfor his soulmate that up until that morning, he didn't even know he had. But the translation and meaning of the lyrics that Yuuri knew by heart drew him further and further in to the fantasy of soulmates. His own story didn't make any sense; the loneliness and dread that Yuuri felt made him feel abandoned, yet ever closer to that soulmate who could cure his disease and stand by him forever. If Yuuri could _just_  find his soulmate, the overwhelming unease and despair would bloom into hope. The thought of their heartbeats converging to form one being — to leave together, and face the world — was the true heart of this program for Yuuri. _That_ was what he felt, and _that_  was what this program meant to him.

With the last combination spin, the centrifugal force weighed heavily on Yuuri's chest and left him dizzy and light-headed. It took everything Yuuri had to keep himself upright.  _Stammi Vicino_  made Yuuri feel like he was skating in a state of melancholy, chasing after someone that he was so desperately searching for and longing to stay close to, but would never truly reach. Especially now, as he was reminded of his own source of that same bittersweet chase, it seemed such a fitting vessel for his current emotions. Yuuri somehow managed to keep his ice traveling to a minimum as he entered the sit spin which quickly grew as he struggled to finish this program that meant so much to him. The final scratch spins left Yuuri breathless as he struck the ending pose with his head toward the ceiling and his arms crossed over his heaving chest. 

For a few moments, the heavy panting and desperate attempt of his lungs to regain even a tiny bit of oxygen was all that Yuuri could recognize. The exhaustion caused his mind to go blank. 

Suddenly, the cacophonous thumping of Yuuko's palms colliding with the boards drew him out of his haze. He finally turned to look at Yuuko's flushed and joyous face as she freaked out and sang his praises.

"That was SUPER COOL!! A perfect copy of Victor! So AWESOME!!" She screamed. Those overwhelming praises left Yuuri a little shocked for a moment. '"I thought you would be depressed or something!" 

With a barely-there self-deprecating laugh and a wash of bashfulness that engulfed him, Yuuri began to explain the truth. 

"Well, I was." He nodded, "but I got bored of feeling depressed. So I got to thinking..." The next phrase took him a second to work up the courage to say, because he was still processing the decision he had just made for his future. "I wanted to get my love for skating back. I thought I could remember how it was when I copied Victor with you." This was it, Yuuri Katsuki was going to continue skating — no matter what.

"Yuu-chan, I've —" A sudden wave of nausea wracked Yuuri's body, encasing him in a sick chilling sweat before he could finish what he was trying to say. He knew he had to get off of that ice _now_ , but as he went to move towards the boards in a hurry, his skate stuttered and bit the ice, causing him to trip. Yuuri couldn't stop himself from falling with the sudden shake to his system combined with the dizziness, nausea and exhaustion. 

Barely even aware of what had just happened, Yuuri entered a coughing fit just like he had earlier that morning. Tears that he was previously strong enough to hold in flooded down his cheeks, pooling from the sheer amount of pain, embarrassment and helplessness that he felt in that moment. 

The pain in his chest and throat was overwhelming — each desperate hack from his lungs left his ears ringing. Yuuri couldn't even hear the desperate cries and questions that Yuuko was shrieking. He couldn't even count on the comforting hand that was rubbing circles on his back to pull him from his panic/Hanahaki-induced-attack. All Yuuri felt was  _pain_ and  _cold_ and  _wet_ from the ie seeping through his pants and gloves.

That's when he felt it. The wave of despair and bile that Yuuri knew he would soon have expect. As the hacking intensified, so did the stream of tears; Yuuri's only solace being the promise of reprieve after could manage to expel some flowers. 

Finally, the tell-tale  _gag_ came, and Yuuri brace himself as he coughed so hard, that even behind his tightly closed eyes, patterns of bright white and neon-like colors were kaleidoscoping with each cough. 

A sudden gasp of breath filled his lungs, and finally the desperate heaving of his chest and lungs began to subside, signaling to Yuuri that the worst was over. He still felt sick and cold and sore and pale — but at least he could open his eyes. 

Upon seeing the absolutely terrified and almost nauseated expression on Yuuko's face, Yuuri began to wish that he was still blinded by his coughs. She looked as if she had just seen her friend being murdered in front of her, and like the killer had used her hand to do it. 

Yuuko was shaking, and even though she was on her knees on the ice, Yuuri knew it wasn't from the cold. Just as the shocked tears (which she probably didn't even realize were forming) began to fall, Yuuko leapt forward and wrapped Yuuri in a death grip of a hug. It was probably the only thing tethering her to the reality where Yuuri was still alive and breathing.

"Oh Yuuri..." even though it was barely above a whisper, it still came out as a sob. Yuuko couldn't stop her lip from quivering or her tears from falling because she  _knew_ what she had just seen. She  _knew_ what that flower meant. Every man, woman and child on this earth  _knew_ what that meant.

Yuuri just let her hug him. The warmth was nice, but Yuuri still felt numb. He desperately tried to find it within himself to comfort the girl who had done so countless times over his own life. But right there in his arms, she looked so much younger; it was almost as if they had become kids again. And what Yuuri wouldn't trade to go back. 

Yuuko had always been Yuuri's protector growing up. Even now, as a mother, the care she felt for those close to her was unmatched in almost anyone else Yuuri had ever met. And god, Yuuri wished she hadn't seen him like that: Weak. A dead man walking. His body beginning to wilt as the flowers inside of him bloomed in bitter irony. 

Yuuko had been lucky. When the plague first hit two years ago, Yuuko and Takeshi had awoken to find matching tattoos on the inside of their forearms. 

The centerpiece was a large white chrysanthemum in the center — symbolizing loyalty and love. Directly behind it, a soft pink carnation — representing a mother’s love. On either side, purple and almost fuchsia freesias were centered around the other flowers, representing passion and joy. In the background, lavender-colored heather all over, signifying admiration — and most of all — luck.

Yuuko had been lucky. Not only would she never contract Hanahaki... but because until that moment, no one that she had loved had ever fallen victim to the disease.

Yuuri had never been lucky. 

The brunette took in another shaky breath before pulling herself slightly away from Yuuri’s frame to look at him. What Yuuri saw in her eyes was an immense sadness colored with a stark tinge of sympathy. It was as if those raspberry-chocolate eyes were going to melt at any moment: fragile and grieving for the man in front of her.

While Yuuri was used to feeling helpless and worthless, he hated seeing that feeling so plainly painted on Yuuko’s nurturing face. It was one that should have never had to experience life without a smile.

“Yuu-chan... I-I need your help... why... why I came this morning...”

Yuuko nodded, eyes still wide in alarm, but not wanting to deny Yuuri whatever he had come to ask for. 

He took in a breath, and found himself unable to look Yuuko in the eyes. The guilt of his own selfishness eating away at any confidence he had once felt in his decision.

“I want to keep skating...” Yuuri said almost in a whisper, which surely would have been drowned out if anyone else had been at the rink. His voice betrayed his guilt as he struggled to tell her his decision. “I-I know that it’s selfish but—“

Before he could finish that thought, Yuuko had pulled him in for another bone crushing hug. Her smaller frame trembling as she nodded vigorously. “It’s okay Yuuri. I understand, and you’re not being selfish. Figure skating is what you love, and I couldn’t imagine you giving that up for anything. Not even for a soulmate.” Sobs cracked through her voice, as she struggled through her own grief about Yuuri’s imminent death. She did understand, even if she never had to make that choice herself. That didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt. 

The two of them stayed there on the ice, hugging and crying, until the only sound between the two was the occasional sniffle and shaky breath that left a cloud in its wake. Just as Yuuko was about to push herself up off of the ice, the sound of a heavy door swinging open and closed, filled the echoing arena, along with a booming voice.

As Takeshi Nishigori entered the rink, a sudden merry-go-round of emotions flew across his face. First, the original jovial playfulness came, as he had planned on relaying the results of the finals from the Men's Free Skate at Worlds, which he had been watching with his three daughters. Then, it shifted into surprise and genuine excitement at the sight of Yuuri, whom he hadn't seen in ages. But all too soon, he realized that something was dreadfully wrong. Nishigori then rushed to the pair on the ice, and quickly helped both of them back onto their feet, and helped guide them to the gate. 

It didn't take long for everything to fall into place, and for Nishigori to understand. After a few absentminded clenches of his fist, and subconscious protection of his own soulmark, the larger man affixed a confident and warm smile on his face. Even if the sadness was still evident, it was still warm enough to even light up Yuuri's emotional coma. 

“What can we do to help? The Nishigori family's always got your back, Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s lips curled into a surprisingly gentle and genuine smile at his words. He didn't deserve them, but no words could ever describe how grateful he was to have the Nishigoris. Without any words, Yuuri followed the couple off of the ice, and back towards the main lobby. The cold emptiness they left behind, a chilling mirror of the path that lied ahead for Yuuri; a path which he would have to forge in order to truly live the rest of his life. 

+++++++++ 

Yuuko didn’t agree with Yuuri’s decisions — either of them really — but she understood why he had made them. She definitely thought he should tell his parents, because they deserved to know. But Yuuri promised he would tell them. Eventually. He just wasn’t ready yet.

Yuuri even promised that he would visit home way more often, and for as long as he could. He also promised that he would tell Mari. That seemed to satisfy Yuuko for the time being, but she was still worried sick that Yuuri would forget or something would happen to Yuuri before he came back...

While Yuuri honestly wanted to stay in Hatsetsu and live with his family, he couldn’t really do much without a coach. Minako was great and all, and the Nishigoris were kind enough to let him use the rink whenever he wanted, but that kind of training wouldn’t get him back to the world competitive level that he so craved.

This meant that Yuuri only had one place he could go. 

Back to Detroit.


	2. "Relieve My Anxiety"

# Chapter 2

### Christmas Rose — "Relieve My Anxiety"

 

In order to get back to Detroit and to  _really_ get back on the ice, Yuuri needed to jump a few hurdles. Namely, his anxiety. 

When Yuuri was in the best of situations, his mental health usually wasn't on his side. But when things were difficult and times were tough? His anxiety would skyrocket and quite nearly cause his brain to explode at the thought of facing his problems head-on.

That's how the beginning of his season needed to start. By throwing caution and all conventional comfort that Yuuri knew to the wind. He had done this once before, when he made the leap to go train in Detroit under Celestino the first time. However, his anxiety and abysmal sense of self worth took over at the end of last season, and Yuuri broke off their coaching partnership.

Asking Ciao Ciao to be his coach the first time was one thing — but trying to repair their relationship and beg for his forgiveness was a whole different monster.

With the 13 hour time difference between Detroit and Hatsetsu, Yuuri could never really find a good time to call and grovel. That was the main excuse that Yuuri's anxiety had decided to use to get him to procrastinate the inevitable. See, Yuuri wanted to skate and he wanted to go back to skating under Celestino as if everything was normal, and nothing had ever changed. But in Yuuri's eyes, everything had. 

He had lost the Grand Prix Final, and his own ineptitude had caused him to fall from a potential medal contender to  _dead last._ With a total score of 232.59, Yuuri had somehow managed to become the laughing stock of the skating world by managing to put over _100 points_ between him and the Grand Prix Final Champion, Victor Nikiforov. Just thinking about the kind of abysmal score that comes from falling, popping or touching down on almost every single jump of his program made Yuuri nauseous.

In the Kiss and Cry, Yuuri couldn't even  _look_ at Celestino. All he could remember from that whole day was fighting between not crying and how to hide his tears when he _was_ crying. Honestly, if Yuuri could forget the entire Grand Prix Final in Sochi, he probably would have. While he knew that Ciao Ciao probably did his best to support and comfort Yuuri throughout the competition and after, Yuuri just shoved him away. Any time his coach told him not to look at coverage of the Grand Prix Final, what did Yuuri do? He read  _all_ of it — because he felt like he deserved to know how much of a failure he really was. When Ciao Ciao had told him to attend the banquet and mingle, all Yuuri could do was just mope in the farthest corner he could find and drown his sorrows with champagne. Which really was ironic, seeing as no skater who finished last -- especially if they were named Yuuri Katsuki — should ever be allowed to 'celebrate' with champagne. But, it did help him to drink and forget at least.

Yuuri knew he had made a fool of himself, and probably even disgraced Celestino's name as a coach. Which was why after they returned to Detroit, Yuuri ended their partnership. Celestino _begged_ him to stay on until after Japanese Nationals at least, but Yuuri couldn't afford to pay his coaching fees, and he didn't want to drag his coach's name further into the mud. That was where Yuuri, and Yuuri _alone_ belonged.

Nationals had somehow proven to be even more of a disaster than the Grand Prix Final, if at all possible. Yuuri Katsuki: Japan's Ace, who had won a Grand Prix event, earned countless other international medals and who qualified for the Grand Prix Final as one of the 6 best Men's Singles Skaters in the world... had placed 11th. He only had himself to blame for his performance.

Maybe if he had stayed with Celestino, he could have placed higher. Maybe if he had at least stepped foot into a skating rink in between Sochi and his official warm up time for Nationals, he could have been something other than a failure. And maybe if Ciao Ciao had been there, Yuuri would have at least been able to see one familiar face before he took the ice.

Instead, the only familiar face he saw around the rink was his own. Banners, flags and posters littered the arena, all staring back at him with deadly judgement. All claiming titles and perfection that Yuuri didn't deserve.  _That_ is why Nationals hurt so much for Yuuri. He saw all of his fans who loved and adored him, only to leave them utterly disappointed in return.

Not only had Yuuri failed himself, but he had failed his family, the entire JSF who had supported his skating, and he had failed every single fan who had ever cheered for him.

Yuuri couldn't face Celestino. Not after that. Not after failing to make the World Team, and  _definitely_ not after living in Detroit for 3 more months and avoiding his former coach and his former rink that he had once considered his home that whole time. 

So yeah, trying to figure out how to apologize to Celestino was not easy.

Thankfully, Yuuko had never been one to cater to Yuuri's dismal outlook on himself. Finally one day, after so many excuses of "Detroit is 13 hours behind" or "I'm too busy", Yuuko took Yuuri's phone and typed out an email to Celestino.  

 

 

> Coach Cialdini,
> 
> This is Yuuko Nishigori, Yuuri Katsuki's former rinkmate and longtime friend, writing to you on behalf of Yuuri. As you most likely know after being his coach for 5 years, Yuuri struggles with his anxiety and his sense of self-worth. A lot has changed for him since you last saw him, but I will leave that personal information for him to discuss with you, because it is not my place to tell. However, these new developments have definitely rekindled Yuuri's passion and drive for skating, and he desperately wants to return to Detroit and train under you again. But again, as you are probably well aware, he is terrible with confrontation, and has failed to contact you after about two weeks of anxious freaking out and excuses of why he can't contact you. 
> 
> While I personally understand if you can no longer coach Yuuri, for whatever reason, it would mean so much to Yuuri to hear from you, discuss the options for him to return to competitive skating, and to reconcile after how things ended. He feels terribly, but more than anything, it seems like he broke off a coaching relationship with you because he was afraid of letting you down, or ruining your reputation as a coach. It isn't because he doesn't want you as a coach anymore or isn't willing to work. He is just scared, and doesn't see the value in his own skating. 
> 
> Back here in Hatsetsu, Yuuri has discussed plans and wishes for next season with his skating support system (myself and my family, who work for a local ice rink, and his former ballet teacher). While we are all very willing to work with Yuuri and support him this season, there isn't a lot we can do to help him improve or climb back to the level he wants to be at. For that, he needs a real coach. He needs to train with you. 
> 
> Celestino, please consider your relationship and past with Yuuri, and whether or not you are willing to continue helping him achieve his goals. You don't have to respond immediately, because Yuuri is unlikely to contact you any time soon no matter how much we bug him. All of his contact information is still the same that you should have, and I will also include my own email address and phone number if you need to reach me as well. Thank you for your consideration, and all the work you have done to support Yuuri over the years, and I really hope to see you and Yuuri working together again soon.
> 
> -Yuuko Nishigori.

While she did feel a little guilty about going behind Yuuri's back, she knew that this was the best chance for Yuuri to get a fresh start. Plus, Yuuri would probably have burst into flames if he had _actually_ tried to send Celestino a message like that...

Luckily, the very next day while Yuuri was out on the ice, his phone began buzzing. Yuuko walked over to the plain metal bench where it was vigorously shaking and echoing, and she breathed a very relieved sigh when she saw the contact name come up as the former coach.

"Yuuri!" She called out to the boy on the ice. "Your phone is ringing — and you should really take it!!"

The summoned boy looked very confused and surprised, because he was obviously not expecting any calls. He steadily made his way over to the boards, where he leaned over and grabbed the blue-cased phone from Yuuko's outstretched hands. But when he took a look at the screen and the name above the _Accept/Deny_ buttons, a flustered look of horror flew across his face — almost causing him to drop the phone.

Yuuko just gave him a knowing look. "Take it."

Obviously he was scared, but Yuuri gulped slightly and gave her a small nod, before sliding the _Accept_ button to take the call and make his way off of the ice.

+++++++++

It turns out the situation was infinitely simpler and easier than Yuuri could have ever imagined. Celestino had called to ask him again what his plans were for the rest of his career, now that he had some time to think away from the competitive scene. That made sense, since Yuuri had never officially announced a retirement or a coaching change — but honestly, Yuuri was just glad to hear from Celestino again, and talk to him like everything was normal. Even though it was far from.

Celestino was more than willing to continue working with Yuuri, if that was the path he wanted to continue on with skating. And if it was, he would welcome him back to Detroit with open arms. However Ciao Ciao did say that he needed an answer by the weekend, because Phichit was contemplating moving back to Bangkok and training now that Yuuri was no longer training with him in Detroit.

This was news to Yuuri, but that also made sense since he had kind of isolated himself from the skating world — even from his best friend — since the Grand Prix Final. So it made sense that Phichit wouldn't tell Yuuri his plans until he was  _certain_ they were going to happen. But that phone call was just what he needed to hear to make his decision.

Yes, Yuuri Katsuki was going to continue skating competitively  _and_ he was going to continue training under Celestino.

Both agreed to keep up correspondence over text and email, as well as video-chat whenever they could work out the timing. The plan was for Yuuri to return to Detroit at the end of May; until then, he would be working on returning to his competitive fitness level and weight, as well as honing his technique again after so long without consistent on-ice practice. Celestino and Minako also agreed to work together as a coach and choreographer team. Hopefully, before Yuuri got on the plane to Detroit, they would have a finished Short Program.

Somehow, Ciao Ciao had seemed to know that something was  _up_ , and when Yuuri had tried to bring it up, all Celestino said was: "I trust you Yuuri. You are an adult, this is your life, and you are choosing your own future. Whatever it is that has spurred this new motivation for skating... you can tell me whenever you're ready." 

Those words and that comforting acceptance made Yuuri almost feel like crying; but for once, out of gratitude rather than despair. 

+++++++++

Over the next two months, things were hectic but survivable. Yuuri was on the ice every day for at least 3 hours, and in the dance studio for the same amount, if not longer each night. He didn't know what he would have done if he hadn't had such a strong support system. The Nishigoris were a godsend. If it wasn't for them opening their rink to him at all hours of the day and night, there is no way he could have even hoped to be ready for competition season. Not only that, but they were so open and willing to do anything to help Yuuri with his diagnosis; whether that was going with him to a doctors appointment, driving him to pick up his suppressant prescription, or having the triplets fend off any retirement rumors online. The triplets, being the skating otaku that they were, even started their own Yuuri Katsuki "fan" accounts to upload videos of him skating and tease of hints for the new season. Of course, since Yuuri was rarely  _ever_ on social media to begin with (mainly only at the insistence of Phichit so he could tag his friend in posts), the triplet's fan page @YuuriKatsukiUpdates quickly ended up with more followers than his  _actual_ accounts. 

Minako was a whole different story, but she was just what Yuuri needed. Unlike most everyone else that Yuuri knew, Minako was the only person he had met that actually had previously  _had_ Hanahaki. Luckily, Minako had been diagnosed with a rather mild strain that hadn't effected her physically that much. She had also been lucky, and had managed to find someone online who had matched her symptoms within about 8 months. Thankfully, to both of their immediate relief and gratitude, they both developed a small tattoo on their upper arm when they met. Her soulmate had immediately burst into tears, and the two of them hugged and cried for almost a solid hour before even managing to order food at the restaurant they had agreed to meet at. That was when they both learned that finding your soulmate and being cured of a fatal disease, was probably the most emotional experience someone could ever have while they were still alive.

In the end, although incredibly grateful to have met each other, neither Minako or her soulmate had felt a romantic connection, and had agreed to pursue a platonic relationship. The two of them were still friends and talked nearly every week. But it all worked out for the best, since if they had tried to make a relationship out of it, either of them would have had to move their entire lives in order to be with each other.

So Minako  _understood_ what Yuuri was going through. She knew the symptoms, the type of exercise and activity that would most easily aggravate the flower growths, and she knew when Yuuri needed to take a break from the suppressants. More so than anything, Minako  _understood_ why Yuuri was continuing to skate, and not pull out every stop to find his soulmate. Originally, Minako had done the same thing; all she wanted to do was continue to dance and teach in Hatsetsu. Through hearing Minako's own experiences, Yuuri was more confident in his own decision, because even if he  _did_ go on all the apps and websites, it was highly unlikely he would find someone even resembling a match until at least his third growth. Which incidentally, was when Minako found her soulmate. Not only did Minako prove to be a teacher and a friend, but she was a much needed confidant and source of experienced empathy. 

Together during Yuuri's remaining time in Hatsetsu, Minako and him worked to refine a different side of his dancing and of his skating. After looking at a few different pieces of music, they finally found  _the one._ There was only one song that really struck a chord with Yuuri, and only one song that could accurately describe Yuuri's struggle to keep skating and performing, even as he was dying.

[The Show Must Go On](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7TIR7vu9ZTk) by Queen. 

Yuuri had always felt a kinship and admiration towards Freddie Mercury. As one of the most famous queer performers of all time, and someone who didn't let anything come in the way of pursuing his dream, Yuuri had always wanted to skate to a piece of his music. But now, Yuuri shared an even deeper connection with this music; that song was the last song that Freddie Mercury  _ever_ performed, and it was recorded in  **one** take as he was in his final battle with AIDs. If Yuuri had to choose one final program to skate to, it was going to be this -- and the show  _would_ go on, no matter what. 

The choreography was different than anything Yuuri had ever performed before; it held the fire and intensity of a rock god, the emotion and passion of a dying man, and the gracefulness and spunk that blurred the lines between male and female. They decided on a mix of music that could highlight the highest points of the emotion and power of the music that combined a [cello cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kARAyjedPiw) of the song, and was overlaid with different sections of both the full Queen version, as well as [Freddie Mercury's isolated vocals. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rSvpdej2OlA)

Within just a few weeks, the program really began to take shape, and Yuuri's desire to return to Detroit and  _really_ begin training grew. Until then however, Yuuri knew he had some obligations he needed to attend to.

Every single day, Yuuri made sure to pray to Vicchan and visit him. It was the least he could do, since he had been unable to comfort him in his final days. 

At every chance he got, Yuuri helped out around the Onsen. If his dad ever needed help in the kitchen, Yuuri was there. If a guest needed an extra robe or set of towels, Yuuri was there. If his mother couldn't cover the front desk while he wasn't at Minako's or skating, he would cover it. Even if he couldn't bring himself to tell his parents just yet about his diagnosis... he was going to make sure he didn't miss out on his final opportunities to love and care for his family. 

Yuuri's plan was to tell his parents after the Grand Prix Final— or until he started his fourth floral growth — whichever came first. It was a fairly common practice to not divulge a Hanahaki diagnosis to friends and family until the symptoms were visible and heading into the final stages. Often, it could be seen as unnecessary suffering and worrying since there was nothing that could really be done to help until they found their soulmate, and Yuuri agreed. His parents were growing older, and their hearts were pure and kind; he didn't want to put them through the pain of seeing their son die when he still had more than enough time to calm any fears they may have. It was kind of like a pregnancy, where until it was publicly announced, no one really talked about their Hanahaki for fear of pity and useless worry. 

Mari however, knew something was up almost immediately. Either than, or she just had a scary sense of timing. Only a few days after his first attack, she came up to his room to ask about his future. Somehow, she understood, and Yuuri knew that even though they had never been the closest as siblings, that she would trust him to live his life and make his own decisions.

"Whatever you choose, skating or staying here and working at the onsen, I'll continue to support you, Yuuri." 

He hadn't known just how much he needed to hear those words. The two agreed that Yuuri would do his best to pay his way while he stayed in Hatsetsu by doing odd jobs around Yu-topia, and Mari would continue to support him as he left for Detroit, while also placating their parents. However, this was only agreed upon once Yuuri promised to visit home more often than he had while he was in college. And Yuuri was more than happy to oblige, already planning on a visit home for a week after his regional competition. 

In September, Yuuri would be competing at the Chugoko, Shikoko and Kyushu Regional Championship. Even if Yuuri was assigned to the Grand Prix Series by the ISU, due to his placement at last year's nationals and his absence at Worlds and Four Continents, Yuuri would have to re-qualify for international competition. Yuuri was dreading the process; he knew that he would not only be the oldest skater there, but he would be an absolute laughing stock for having to go and compete again at such a low level. However, it would most definitely be even worse if he went out to skate with that attitude. _That_ was the attitude that landed him in 11th last year at Nationals, and Yuuri was  _not_ going to history repeat itself there. If Yuuri could place 1st or 2nd, which on paper _should_ be easy enough, he would be right on track to start his season. On the bright side, it did at least give him an opportunity to spend some much needed time at home before he got in the thick of competition once the Grand Prix Series started.

Just a few days before Yuuri's flight back to America, he took his final doctor's appointment. While technically Yuuri didn't  _need_ to go back until his symptoms got worse or he grew any new flowers... but he  _did_ need a refill on his prescriptions to hold him out until he saw his new doctor in Detroit... but more than that, Yuuri wanted an estimate. 

It was fairly impossible to predict an average Hanahaki lifespan, especially before the second or third growth. But that didn't mean that Yuuri's anxiety would hold tight and wait patiently. So far, Yuuri had been afflicted with his  _disease_ for 2 months. Even with the most aggressive change in symptoms, it was looking less and less likely by the day that Yuuri had the most dangerous form of Hanahaki — where he would fall victim in 6 months. For that, Yuuri was incredibly grateful, and would pray to any god who would listen. However, that nagging and ever present anxiety kept telling him that his next day would be his last, and maybe if he could hear an actual doctor  _say_ what he wanted to hear, he could actually believe it. 

As he expected, his doctor had no answer for him, besides to hope. Yes, it was extremely unlikely that he was going to go through 4 stages of the disease in the next 3-4 months, which did give Yuuri some time. But it was impossible to tell if he would be on the unlucky side of a 10-month life expectancy, or if he would have a whole 2 years. All the doctor could do was refill his prescription for suppressants and pain meds, and leave Yuuri with some advice: be patient, take it easy on the suppressants and be vigilant.

+++++++++

At the end of May, Yuuri said his goodbyes.

Unlike the last time he left for Detroit 5 years ago, this _sayonara_ felt so much longer, so much more final and so much more emotional. Even though this trip would only be for around 4 months.

Sure, when he left for college and to train, there were a few tears — but those were mostly from his mom. Now, in addition to his emotional mother, Mari, Minako and all of the Nishigoris were crying at his send off. Yuuri himself let a few tears fall down his cheeks, but they weren’t out of despair or fear. They were grateful tears; grateful that he could finally see that he had so many people standing behind him who loved and cared for him. Yuuri had something to miss, and something to continue living for.

Finally, Yuuri managed to extricate himself from a bone crushing hug-pile, and left with a promise to be back in September when he competed at Regionals.

+++++++++

For a place that hadn't changed in the slightest over the course of 3 months, Detroit sure was a _different_ place. 

The first time he stepped off the plane and into Detroit, Yuuri was so young and so hopeful. This time, Yuuri felt like an eternity had passed and he was an entirely different person, with an entirely different set of hopes and dreams. 

Which was definitely not wrong. Yuuri  _had_ changed. 5 years ago, Yuuri was just coming off of the Junior circuit, and heading off to college in a brand new country. The whole world was laid out in front of him, and the opportunities were endless.

Now, that period of Yuuri's life had passed. College was a thing of the past; Yuuri had his degree, even though it had taken him an extra year. The Grand Prix Final, which  _before_ was merely a pipe dream, was something Yuuri had actually  _accomplished_ , and Yuuri now knew the taste of defeat. That was a thirst he needed to quench, no matter what it took. Before, Yuuri was alone and scared; now he didn't have to be. He had a support system, he had a family, he had friends, he had a coach, and he had an ultimatum. 

Yuuri took in a deep breath, almost as if he was trying to fill his entire being with that dream and sentiment, before he was forcefully tackled to the ground by a force that could only be described as Phichit Chulanot. 

Despite the new ache forming in his back and the crushing weight of the Thai skater,  _God_ was Yuuri glad to see Phichit. Just seeing his best friend there, and being able to actually feel that he was real, made his previous thought actually feel real. It took everything for Yuuri to not just fall into a fit of conflicted, emotional and ugly sobs, so instead Yuuri settled for grateful laughter and a meaningful hug. 

This season was going to be different -- Yuuri could feel it. He could go through this season with his best friend; not only would he have a support system and someone to confide in during training, but together Phichit and him would push each other to be better and to go further than they ever had before. 

Just like Detroit, nothing much had changed at Yuuri and Phichit's apartment, but it definitely felt different. It was as small as ever, but unlike the first time he entered or the last time he left, Yuuri really felt home.

Unlike their college days, the apartment now contained significantly less food and random furniture, and there were cardboard boxes everywhere. This was the bittersweet reality of everything that had changed; Yuuri had moved out, and Phichit almost left for good. And Yuuri didn't know what he would have done if Phichit had gone to Bangkok. Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about that for the time being.

Yuuri’s room was just as he left it in March. Empty, save for the bare bones of the furniture that (luckily) came with the apartment. As far as rooms went, it was definitely plain — but that was fine for Yuuri. He didn’t need reminders of Victor everywhere across his walls. Yuuri was content with his plain bed spread, pillows, a lone lamp and desk. It’s really all he needed, besides the couple of bags full of clothes and his skating bag which shoved against the wall.

It was weird thinking that this would literally be his home just for skating. Before, Yuuri came home to study. He came home in between classes, and he hung out at home with friends and even had some people come and _spend_ _the_ _night_. But now that he had graduated, and now that he only had one focus on his mind... all of those escapades would be a thing of the past.

Theoretically, Yuuri would have much more “free time”, now that he wasn’t a full time student, and being a competitive figure skater would literally be his full time job. But any of that time would be much better spent with skating, stretching, working out, dancing or any number of things. He had chosen this life and this future for himself, and by god was he going to live it.

Somehow, Yuuri fell easily back into the routine of skating and working with Ciao Ciao as if nothing had ever changed. It was simultaneously comfortable and comforting. Finally having one sense of normalcy in this tumultuous sea of changes known as Yuuri Katsuki’s life was a much needed anchor.

For the first week, Yuuri and Ciao Ciao mostly went over his Short Program. While working with Minako was amazing, and they had definitely done a _lot_ of work with the choreography and performance aspect of it, there was no technical backbone to the program. Celestino had Yuuri test drive different jumps and spins and technical elements to make the most of the current ISU judging system.

Yuuri was _confident_ that he could pull off a fully backloaded program with two quads and his signature triple axel. If he could consistently land these jumps, enter into them out of steps or other difficult entries... and IF he could consistently get all of his levels for his spine and steps... The Show Must Go On would have the highest difficulty level ever attempted in a Short Program. That was something even Victor Nikiforov could never dream of doing. And that was what was going to put Yuuri back on the map.

Once everything began to finally  _click_ , Yuuri approached Celestino to ask about his Free Skate. But this time, something had obviously changed; both for Yuuri  _and_ Celestino. Before, Yuuri would have never even dreamed about coming to his coach to ask about a program. In the past, it had always been like pulling teeth. Like Yuuri was too scared of rejection or ridicule for suggesting a poor idea, or even worse, for offending his coach by suggesting an idea rather than wait for something to be assigned for him. This was a different Yuuri that Celestino had under his wing now, and he would have to learn how to treat this new found vigor and determination accordingly.

Celestino thought that a good way to start that process was to ask about the piece of music that Yuuri had brought to him last season. While it was a lackluster piece that would have produced a mediocre-at-best program, that piece of music was the first piece that Yuuri had ever brought to show Ciao Ciao.  _That_ was exactly the type of fire that Yuuri needed this season — something that had been made just for  _him_ as a skater and a program that  _he_ produced. 

The conversation with Celestino got Yuuri to thinking back to that old music and his conservatory student friend, Ketty. Celestino had been right the year before, and that music  _hadn't_ been right for Yuuri. He had originally asked Ketty to create a piece that represented his career and life as a skater. And up until that point, there really had been nothing of note, so that only made sense.

But now... that same piece could really be _different_ and take on a life of it's own.  Yuuri could really begin to skate his heart out on the ice and show his true, genuine and raw self.

With that vision in his head, Yuuri scrolled through his phone until he found Ketty's contact, and began a text. It only took a few minutes for her to reply, which shocked Yuuri after how he had treated her the last time she had created a piece for him. But she said that "she will see what she can do", and that was good enough for Yuuri to being to imagine what  _he_ could do for that program. A program where he could show the whole world  _Yuuri_ out on the ice.

The plans for this season made were really starting to take form — and for Yuuri, they actually began to feel real. A few days later, Yuuri knew that the future of his season was going to be decided as the International Skating Union released their Grand Prix Assignments.

It had become a bit of a tradition for Yuuri and Phichit over the years, but it was once again time for their annual Grand Prix Assignment Watch Party. Since the assignments would be announced sometime around 2-3 a.m. Central Standard Time, it was the perfect opportunity to stay up all night watching King and the Skater and old recordings of skating competitions as they waited for the announcement. For Phichit, it was also the perfect opportunity for gossip and to catch Yuuri back up on everything he missed while he was gone.

Now, even after so many years and so much anxiety that built up in anticipation, spending this time with Phichit was one of Yuuri's most cherished memories. Being able to sit and watch King and the Skater, play with the hamsters and not have to worry about anything for one night was a much needed change of pace. Well, it was at least good for Yuuri, since Phichit had made sure to take away all internet-compatible devices away from him so he couldn't obsessively refresh the screen every 30 seconds. It was Phichit's job to keep track of any updates.

Yuuri and Phichit had probably seen each of The King and the Skater movies at least 8 times together. While they were _definitely_ Phichit's favorite movies, Yuuri mainly watched it because of his friend. It was honestly so endearing to hear  _just_ how excited Phichit was to finally be able to skate to his favorite movie soundtrack of all time — especially while they were watching that same movie.

Sure, Phichit had wanted to skate to it  _forever_ and become the first Thai skater to ever perform to that music... and sure, the ISU finally allowed lyrics for competition music for singles skaters... but  _now_ Phichit was ready to bring "The King and the Skater" on to the ice. Before, the Thai boy might have been a good skater, but he was not nearly consistent enough and didn't have enough presence on the ice to truly _perform_ it.

When Ciao Ciao had brought the music to the rink just after worlds, Yuuri had woken up to a voicemail that consisted entirely of high-pitched Phichit screams with the faint sounds "Shall We Skate" playing in the background.

Somehow, over the course of watching the entire "King and the Skater" franchise and an entire day at the rink, it had gotten to be almost 3 a.m. — and both boys were on the verge of passing out in Yuuri's bed. The two somehow always ended up in Yuuri's room; Phichit claimed it was because his room was either too messy or smelled like hamsters... but Yuuri knew it was because his bed was comfier, and Phichit just liked to cuddle. 

Just as the credits began rolling on  _King and the Skater 3,_  and as if it were the most normal thing in the world, Phichit said: "Oh hey, congrats on the Cup of China and the Rostelecom Cup" without even looking up from his phone. 

From a mix of delirium and disbelief, Yuuri knew he couldn't have heard Phichit correctly. And thank god Yuuri hadn't been drinking anything, because otherwise he probably would have spit it all over Phichit and his own bed. "Wait, wh-what?!!?!?!"

Phichit just shrugged and tried to hide the smirk that came as a reaction to Yuuri's freak-out. "Your little fan account run by those skater otaku triplets posted these like a minute ago." He then turned to show Yuuri his phone, which lo and behold, showed two surprisingly high quality graphics announcing Yuuri's Grand Prix placements. "I haven't even seen the official lists yet." 

Yuuri just gaped at the phone for a second in disbelief. "How on earth did they even make these so quick..." He then quickly shook his head to get himself out of his stupor, slapped his cheeks and took in a much needed breath. "Wow, so I guess I'm going to China and Moscow, right? I can't believe I got two placements again... thank god.."

The Thai boy just rolled his eyes, and playfully slapped Yuuri's shoulder. "Of course you did, you dumb-butt! Even if you had a few mess-ups last year, you are still one of the best skaters in the world. I'm the one who should be worrying about whether or not _I_ got two assignments, since I don't have a big-name skating fed to stick up for me!"

He hadn't even considered that, but it made sense. Japan was a country that was pretty well known for their skating, and even if they didn't necessarily produce champions every year, they still had a large amount of funding to put into the sport, and even hosted their own Grand Prix qualifying event. But Phichit was all alone in Thailand. He was lucky that Thailand was even a member nation of the ISU, but Phichit was their first skater in recent history to even go up to the Senior division, much less actually  _compete_ and  _do well_. 

Luckily without even wasting a few seconds, Phichit gasped in excitement as he already had the results pulled up. "Yuuri, we're all going to be in China together!!! You, me, Christophe, Guang Hong AND Leo!!! It's going to be such a fun trip and we can go sight-seeing and we get to travel all together!"

While that did sound amazing, and Yuuri was glad that he was going to be able to travel with both Phichit and Ciao Ciao for at least one competition this year, that didn't calm any of Yuuri's worries about his best friend. "That's great Phichit... but you  _do_ have another assignment, right...?"

"Oh yeah! I'm also going to be at Skate America, but I'm waaaaay more excited about the Cup of China though because we can go together, I get to flirt with Chris and there will be so much good food... I haven't been to Beijing in for-e-veeeeerrrr!!!" The Thai boy dramatically drawled.

All Yuuri could do was awkwardly laugh, because he really never could understand Phichit's priorities... but at least his friend seemed excited. Even if Yuuri knew it would somehow end up at his expense, since getting Phichit and Chris together in a room was NEVER a good idea.

"Thank goodness..." He was genuinely excited for his friend, because this was the first time he had been assigned to two Grand Prix events, and boy did he deserve it. "... Can I see...?" Yuuri asked awkwardly as Phichit quickly handed over the laptop, now obviously more preoccupied with social media and congratulating all of his friends on their respective assignments. 

As Yuuri looked over the Grand Prix assignments, Yuuri saw that everything he had heard so far was accurate. Skate America was being held in Chicago, and some of the names he recognized were of course Phichit Chulanot, but also Leo de la Iglesia, Guang Hong Ji and Otabek Altin. 

Cup of China was being hosted in Beijing, which Yuuri was almost just as excited for as Phichit, because it was one of his favorite cities that he had ever competed in while he was in Juniors. Just like Phichit had said, there were a lot of names of old friends that he recognized besides Phichit and himself. Christophe, Georgi Popovich, Guang Hong and Leo... It was sure to be an interesting competition. 

Yuuri then let his eyes scroll across the rest of the list before he checked out his last assignment. Most of the other competitions had a few names he knew, but for the most part were fairly easy to determine who was going to make the podium. Victor was obviously going to win Skate Canada, unless that other Yuri was as scary as a Senior as he was in Juniors. Otabek Altin would probably take the NHK Trophy, maybe Michele Crispino or Seung Gil, but both of them usually had issues with consistency early in the season. At the Trophee de France, the only skaters that Yuuri even recognized were Christophe and Georgi, who were both  _obviously_ going to medal. 

Finally, after enough procrastination on his part, Yuuri finally looked at who he would be facing at the Rostelecom Cup. As he scanned the names, his heart began to race. Emil Nekola — the Czech Quad monster — who although scary to face, was honestly like a big teddy bear. A big teddy bear who although had power, didn't usually have enough stamina to carry him through his programs. Then he saw Michele Crispino of Italy and Seung Gil Lee of Korea sandwiching his own name. Like Yuuri had thought before, both of them did lack consistency; however both were intimidating in their own right. Neither were warm or friendly, but when they were  _on_ at a competition, they were entirely different beasts. The only consolation that Yuuri could see, was that wherever Michele went, his twin sister Sara usually followed. 

Yuuri had competed with all of them as they each climbed the ranks in Juniors, so he knew them well by now, but he would definitely not call them friends. Sara was another story, because she was as sweet and as bright as her candy-colored eyes. However, even if the other three boys were intimidating, it was fairly easy to ignore them and focus on himself. Which was all that Yuuri really needed to do  _okay_ at a competition: keep to himself, and focus on doing the best that Yuuri Katsuki could do. 

That's when Yuuri made the mistake of letting his eyes scroll down the rest of the list. 

In big, bold letters that stared directly into Yuuri's soul — as if they were carving a knife directly into his chest and ripping out his heart — was written the one name that Yuuri couldn't bare to see. These letters weren't actually any bigger or bolder or any more prominent than any other name on the list... but the meaning behind them jumped out at Yuuri and stole all of his breath away. 

 **Victor NIKIFOROV**  
**(RUS)**

He couldn't breath. His vision began to blur; from tears, from exhaustion, from _pain_? Yuuri couldn't tell. From just that one name on a list, it felt like his whole world was breaking down around him. All of the hard work that Yuuri had put in, the lengths he had gone to for this sport and to keep skating — only for Yuuri to be dealt a death blow. 

Yuuri didn't realize he was shaking until he could vaguely hear Phichit asking what was wrong from his periphery, and then placed a tanned hand on his shoulder. But when Yuuri tried to respond, he was met with  _that_ feeling. He still couldn't breath, but what was worse was the undeniable feeling of death beginning to tear at his throat and lungs. Before he could even utter a word, his whole body erupted in a coughing fit. The nausea came in waves, and honestly at that point, Yuuri would rather vomit everywhere if it meant that he would feel even a smidgen better. 

But Yuuri knew it wouldn't happen, even if he begged. Even though the nausea was overpowering, it was all too familiar, and Yuuri knew that all that would come up were those god forsaken flowers. All of the pain and all of the suffering, just for a few stupid petals and another reminder that he was _dying_. After a little bit more than three months, Yuuri knew it's pattern and its M.O., even if he hated it.

Sometimes Yuuri contemplated just taking the suppressants every day so he wouldn't have to deal with these damn attacks... but then he was always reminded of the fact that no — he couldn't die yet. There were things he needed to do before he succumbed to his disease, even if those dreams were growing more distant with each passing minute.

Yuuri _hated_ the helpless feeling that came with his Hanahaki. He hated showing people that he was weak and vulnerable, and with this disease, that was the only thing he ever felt. Coughing and coughing and coughing to no end but to produce a few measly blue petals, and maybe a fully formed rose if he was unfortunate enough — because those were the ones that hurt coming up. It just made him feel _helpless_ , and finally after so long and so many struggles with his own mental health and self image... Yuuri thought he had been through the worst of it, but boy had he been wrong. 

The pity that Yuuri could see in Phichit's eyes whenever he coughed was heartbreaking. Sure, he was being a good and supportive friend — great, even — but it still somehow managed to make Yuuri feel even worse about his predicament, knowing that his disease wasn't only causing him pain, but it was also hurting those closest to him too. 

Pain was growing in Yuuri's chest, and  _god_ was he just so ready to be over. He couldn't tell if for some reason that night's attack was  _actually_ worse than the others, or if it just felt like that because of how long it was taking for Yuuri to find relief. The lack of oxygen and the whiplash that was worsening with each hacking cough all added on top of Yuuri's ever growing anxiety and dread made him truly feel like he was dying.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, but was probably little more than a few minutes, Yuuri could feel it. He could definitely tell that this was going to be a full flower, if not multiple, because of the way it was pushing against his throat. It hurt so badly, and Yuuri knew that tears were probably carving canyons down his cheeks, but he didn't care because he just wanted them  _out._

After a few more coughs and the simulated feeling of vomit, the rush of air that Yuuri had come to crave signaled the end of that ordeal. Whether it was from exhaustion and the hour on the clock, the relief of sweet oxygen, or the combined embarrassment and pain, Yuuri continued to let his tears fall like the child he wished he could still be. 

With his head buried deep in his hands in an attempt to steady himself and hide his mortifying lack of self control, Yuuri barely noticed the timid tapping of a finger on his shoulder. Yuuri looked up at Phichit with a still freshly-wet and sallow face that could only be described as morbidly resigned to his own fate. 

That face shook even Phichit who was normally a perpetual beacon of hope and persistence. But still, the younger Thai boy shakily held something up towards Yuuri as if trying to present his own still-born child.

Honestly, that might have been a more preferable option.

But no, what what laying wilted in Phichit's shuddering, outstretched hands was worse. One large, rounded yet star-shaped, white flower with a yellow center that seemed to have hundreds of eagerly protruding stamens. 

A Christmas Rose.


	3. "A Declaration Of Love"

# Chapter 3

### Tulip — "A Declaration of Love."

Finally, when the aftershocks and waves of anxiety and nausea from the most recent Hanahaki attack subsided, Yuuri could see clearly again — both literally and figuratively.

No matter how much Yuuri didn’t want it to be true, and no matter how much pain and grief it had already caused him, _of course_ it made sense for Victor to be assigned to the Rostelecom Cup. He was the reigning Russian National Champion — and it had been a long standing tradition for the reigning National Champion in each discipline from each Grand Prix host country to compete in their home event.

This was even further proof that Moscow was going to be hell on earth for Yuuri. Not only would the current Russian _Seniors_ Champion be competing at the Rostelecom Cup, but as would the Russian Punk — current Russian _Juniors_ Champion — Yuri Plisetsy.

If Yuuri had to pick between competing against his idol, who he would lose miserably to and make a fool of himself in front of… and the cocky 15 year old who shared his name, and verbally and practically physically accosted him in the bathroom on the worst day of his life… Yuuri would rather curl himself into a ball, throw himself off the nearest cliff, and fling himself to a fiery death.  

Somehow (or, more accurately, because of his anxiety and Hanahaki), Yuuri had originally overlooked the second listing of the name “Yuri” on the assignment sheet.

While having to face Victor _seemed_ like the worst possible scenario, Yuuri knew that now having to defend himself from the blonde punk’s attacks while fighting to secure a Grand Prix Final qualification was going to be 10x worse than if he had just been trying to not make a fool of himself in front of Victor.

_“We don’t need two Yuris competing in the same division. Why don’t you just go and retire already?!”_

Yuuri could still hear those sharp words and see the teenager’s rabid sneer ringing through his head as clear as the day he had first heard those words in Sochi. Those words were the last thing he had needed to hear on top of everything that had already happened; it wasn’t a challenge, it was a declaration of uselessness aimed at Yuuri.

But at that point in his career, he honestly deserved every last of those words. Now? Yuuri wasn’t going to go down without a fight, and he refused to be relegated to the title of ‘Second-Best Yu(u)ri in Figure Skating”.

Even though seeing that name lit a fire under Yuuri’s ass, it still fanned the flames of imposter syndrome. It was a constant fight between Yuuri’s inner demons which were relentlessly peeling back bandaids and reopening wounds on every insecurity and each goal.

Should he have just retired? Should he have given up and traveled the world looking for his soulmate? Would he end up regretting coming back this season?

All of these thoughts swam through Yuuri’s head, but he wouldn’t know the answer to any of those questions until he competed. He had until then to prove that this was all worth it — and that _he_ was worth all of it.

Phichit and Yuuri stayed up a for a little while after the announcements, mostly to try and lighten the mood, make each other feel better, and take their minds off of the new flower growth. But since it was probably 3 a.m. by the time either of them could breath, they very soon thereafter passed out. Of course, still together in Yuuri’s bed.

The next morning, Yuuri woke up to find himself smothered in Phichit. He was entirely squashed by the tiny Thai man who really had no right to be that strong or that heavy while unconscious. Because seriously, Phichit’s death grip sleep-cuddle was not to be trifled with.

Later, after both were finally awake (meaning Yuuri was finally freed from the clutches of evil known as a sleeping Phichit), Yuuri left for his doctor’s appointment.

Since Yuuri had experienced his second flower growth, that meant he was entering Stage 2 of Hanahaki. Which meant it was time for a check up— and hopefully an optimistic outlook.

His journey with Hanahaki had started in March, which meant that now in July, Yuuri had a little more than 3 months in between growths. Although he was nowhere near being considered an _expert_ , he now knew that the most basic life expectancy he could predict would be somewhere around 15 months.

15 months of living with Hanahaki. Approximately another year before he would meet either his savior and soulmate — or his fate. While that still didn’t feel like nearly long enough to live the rest of his life, it was still more than Yuuri could have ever asked for.

He had never been lucky; Yuuri always drew the worst slot in skating draws, he had experienced last-minute Wi-Fi crashes and autosave fails more than any one person should have to deal with, and any time that chance could have given him something great, more likely than not Yuuri would end up living through the worst possibility. Hanahaki Disease, he figured, would be no exception.

But even by the most dire of circumstances and most virulent of cases, Yuuri was highly unlikely to be afflicted with the most aggressive form of Hanahaki, and he probably _didn’t_ only have another 3 months to live. Which was a great relief.

Still, Yuuri’s anxiety was **racing** until he heard confirmation from his doctor. But, it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Or, more accurately, Yuuri could _barely_ handle it, but after living through 23 years of debilitating anxiety, he was used to it by now.

For the last 5 years of his life in Detroit, Yuuri had been seeing the same two doctors for the entire time, and he was so grateful to be able to see them again and be under their care.

His primary care physician, Dr. Khanna Dhaliwal-Cooper, had treated him for basically everything while he was in college. Whether it was a yearly physical, a minor stress injury from practice, the inevitable flue that Yuuri contracted each fall, or the occasional “I’m a dumb college student and holy shit please tell me I don’t have an STD” test… she had seen it all.

Dr. Dhaliwal-Cooper was a sweet and gentle-hearted Indian woman who had basically helped Yuuri from the second he arrived in America. Within his first week in Detroit, he had needed to find a physician so he could get a physical and be medically approved for training at the Detroit Skating Club, and he also needed to be vaccinated in order to register for his first semester of college. Not only did she do all that for Yuuri, but she also recommended an Optometrist, gave him the card for an athletic trainer who worked at his school, and set him up for an appointment with her wife: Dr. Alicia Cooper-Dhaliwal, who was a therapist.

Over the past two years, that married couple had not only been his doctor and therapist, but they had also been his mentors and his chosen family in Detroit. Not only did they offer irreplaceable advice and help when it came to his physical and mental health, but Drs. Khanna and Alicia Dhaliwal-Cooper had been his first real queer role models.

So while yes, going into the doctor’s office to find out how much time he left on earth was terrifying, Yuuri was so glad to be able to see Dr. Khanna again.

When he walked into the waiting room, the familiar face of the secretary was a much-needed small comfort. Even when his name was called, not even his anxiety and fear could dim the warmth that grew when he saw Dr. Dhaliwal-Cooper’s tall frame emerge from behind the door. She had a soft smile painted on her deep golden-toned face. It caused a feeling of nostalgia and comfort to bubble within Yuuri’s chest; a similar feeling to spending the holidays with grandparents as a child. Warm and safe— just like the hug she wrapped Yuuri in once they reached her office.

“Welcome back, Yuuri.”

Much of the appointment was spent catching up on the last few months, especially since Yuuri hadn’t seen her or her wife since he returned to Detroit from Nationals, fruitless. There was no judgement in any part of her voice or their conversation, just genuine interest and curiosity along with hope for Yuuri’s return to skating. She asked Yuuri if there had been anything else besides his diagnosis that had been bothering him — to which Yuuri claimed he was too busy for any other worries.

Dr. Khanna gave Yuuri a slight look of suspicion, but it was more from a place of concern. She enthusiastically recommended booking an appointment with her wife; while that was partially because she knew that Alicia would also want to catch up with Yuuri, she also knew Yuuri’s mental health history.

Yuuri’s level of deep-seeded anxiety combined with his terminal disease, alongside all of the other minor traumas made the doctor worried. From leaving all family behind and moving back to Detroit, to resuming competitive figure skating and the intense training that came with it, it had all the potential for for disaster.

Not only would a therapy session be a generally beneficial idea for Yuuri, but it could also help treat any psychosomatic symptoms of his Hanahaki. While Hanahaki was classified as a localized ailment to the lungs and respiratory system, the symptoms were systemic in their effects. Side effects like that not only could affect Yuuri’s physical health like with his back or his muscle strength, but mentally as well.

A patient’s mental health could greatly affect their symptoms and the voracity and frequency of attacks. So if Yuuri could have a more level head and be more in control of his emotions and anxiety, there would be a chance that his number of smaller attacks would decrease in between growths. And _that_ could make all the difference for Yuuri and his skating.

Yuuri agreed with Dr. Khanna, because that was a good idea. He told her that he would schedule an appointment when he got home after practice that afternoon. However, if he was honest, he probably would have scheduled an appointment soon anyways.

Sadly all the catching up and light-hearted jokes had to end at some point, because Yuuri didn’t schedule this appointment to “catch up”, no matter how much he needed to. He needed to know how long he had left.

Just like Yuuri had guessed, Dr. Khanna agreed that his potential life span would likely last for another 12 to 16 months. Since he had only just gotten his second growth, it was still fairly difficult to tell the specifics. Those would come with more understanding of his symptoms, and how his body reacted in the days before he entered a new stage.

If Yuuri’s Hanahaki followed this same pattern, and had about a 3 month gestation period in between growths… he _should_ have another year ahead of him. The best case scenario would be that his growths slowed as he entered the later stages, but even then he probably wouldn’t have more than an extra 3-4 months…

The real issue would be trying to fend off any retaliatory or fast-acting growths. If his symptoms started aggravating and rushing through the stages, he would still likely have at least 8 months left, so it was so important for Yuuri to stay vigilant and aware of what his body was doing.

However, just like with the first growth, there wasn’t a whole lot that medicine could do for Yuuri by way of treatment. Most of Dr. Khanna‘s medical advice consisted of patience and awareness. Because as long as his soulmate didn’t do anything stupid that would throw off the life expectancy, then Yuuri would at least be fine for the time being.

Then, with a sudden shift in tone, Dr. Khanna asked: “Yuuri, are you on the apps...?”

Yuuri’s eyes went wide. While it made sense that his doctor should know whether or not he was actively searching for his soulmate on the matching apps, Yuuri had not been prepared at all to answer such personal and emotional questions. At least, not yet.

Instead, he looked down and to the side — his nervous and slightly shameful instinct taking over.

But rather than judge and reprimand him, Khanna gently placed a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder to ground and comfort him. Only responding with a small nod in understanding. She had known Yuuri for so long, she had basically already knew the answer to that question, and was more looking for confirmation rather than an answer.

Like she had said before, Yuuri still had time. He was young, and in an impossible position — he should be allowed to choose how he really wanted to spend his last few months of freedom. At least, before the disease started really taking over his life, as it would once it hit the degenerative stage.

“I understand Yuuri... you have other things on your mind, right?” She only waited for a small pause of silent confirmation before continuing. “Well, for now you still have time, so you don’t have to worry about that right yet. For now, the only thing you really need to do, is focus on yourself and your career. Until there is something more we can do, the best thing you _can_ do is just _live._ But... I definitely suggest keeping an open mind. Especially as you get into the deeper stages...”

All Yuuri could do to respond was a give a single morbid nod.

Dr. Khanna and Yuuri finished off the appointment with a routine physical. First, they needed to make sure that Yuuri was still in shape and healthy enough to actually continue figure skating competitively and as his career. But more important to this appointment, hey also needed to check his lung and breath capacity and how it was affected by his Hanahaki.

It was simple, and consisted of an exam to make sure there were no roots or thorns that were growing abnormally. They needed to weed out the possible need for an emergency operation, as well as to screen for any benign growths that could signal danger, and would require a closer look.

For now, Yuuri passed with flying colors and was all clear to continue living.

On his way out, Yuuri scheduled another appointment to check in on any new developments and progress, as well as to refill any prescriptions he could need for his week-long trip back home.

With a wave, the doctor sent Yuuri on his way, but also warned him to keep track of any odd symptoms or any increase in pain. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to hear about any of that, but just in case, it was important that Yuuri call her as soon as any of those developed.

Hopefully, instead of growing more painful, Yuuri’s Hanahaki would become progressively easier and more manageable to deal with as Yuuri got more used to the symptoms. Even more optimistically, hopefully they would even improve once he started more frequent sessions with Alicia as well.

And just like he said, Yuuri scheduled a therapy session for later that same week, looking forward to the hopefully long and bright future ahead of him, even as it was shaded by his Hanahaki.

++++++++

Back at the rink, Yuuri and Phichit both dived deep into their individual practice now that the outlook of their seasons was secured. For the first time since they had begun training together, both of them had secured two Grand Prix assignments. _And_ for the first time, neither of them _needed_ to compete in any challenger series events. The only caveat was Yuuri needing to go back to Japan and re-qualify through his regional competition. Phichit though, had free reign of how he wanted to train and better himself for the upcoming season.

Until Yuuri heard back from Ketty about his music for his Free Skate, his main priority was improving his jumps. In previous seasons, his technical score had always been his downfall. Sure, he was known for his step sequences and usually made up for his score in the performance components, but _that_ wasn’t going to win him any gold medals. It barely landed him in the Grand Prix Final last year, and he wasn’t going to leave his spot up to chance. He needed to _earn_ that spot and win gold.

To do that, Yuuri wanted to try and learn every quad he could. He could consistently land his quad toe loop, but that was basically it. While he had worked on his quadruple Salchow, he had less than a 20% success rate with it, and had barely ever landed it in competition. Besides those, most other quads had seemed like a pipe dream. Before, his triple axel was the bread and butter of his programs. He could land that, no sweat, no matter the circumstances or entry. But if he _really_ wanted to be competitive, and if he really wanted to stay at the top, he would have to improve and _fast._

The Lutz and Loop had never really been his strongest jumps, but they were worth a try since they were worth so many points. Usually, Yuuri was much stronger with jumps that used the toe for takeoff as opposed to straight off of the edge, and back outside edge jumps were his worst. It had taken him so long as he rose through the Junior ranks to finally get his triple lutz, loop and salchows consistent.

However, just thinking about _attempting_ a quad flip gave him goosebumps. The quad flip was the signature jump of his idol, Victor Nikiforov. If it weren’t for his failing health, every stubborn bone in Yuuri’s body would have told him to just yolo a quad flip right then and there, just to see if he could do it. But, that probably wasn’t the smartest idea, and would definitely result in some intense reprimanding from Celestino. So instead, Yuuri relegated himself to quad salchows and attempting new entries into his already solid jumps. Even those few +0.5 points in GOE could mean the difference between a gold medal and placing off the podium.

Phichit was also working incredibly hard; unlike himself, Phichit was basically on his own in the skating world. Thailand basically had no funding or governing agency to watch over or support their skaters. The entire reason he was even training in Detroit was because there were only 3 ice rinks in all of Thailand, and most of them were located inside of malls. He didn’t have to worry about winning his own Nationals, because Phichit almost always competed unopposed.

Even though figure skating was continuing to grow all over southeast Asia, the majority that competed didn’t pursue skating long enough to even compete outside of the Junior division, and even then, most of the skaters were women. Hopefully in a few years, there would be some actual competition once the Juniors rose up to the Senior ranks, but until then, Phichit was in uncharted territory.

Now that he had even secured two Grand Prix series events, he was free to write his own history and show his best self off to the world. Unencumbered by all of the technicalities that were plaguing Yuuri. Which was why Celestino and Phichit finally thought it was time to skate to “The King and the Skater”.

It was so refreshing to see just how excited Phichit was to be skating and running his routines. Usually in the past, it was a chore to keep Phichit focused during practice — his attention span normally only lasted as long as it took for him to complete a few jumps. Or whenever his phone would buzz with a notification. Whichever came first.

But now, with the soundtrack of his favorite movie of all time playing constantly over the rink’s speakers, and now that he could finally skate a routine that he had _wished_ for his entire career… it was almost impossible to get him off of the ice. Yuuri had never seen Phichit so intense and focused before. Even to Yuuri, who had seen Phichit grow and change as a skater more than anyone else had, it was easy to tell that Phichit was a new skater this season. Yuuri honestly wondered just how much he had missed while he was gone…

When Yuuri got home from the rink that night, he had originally planned on just cooking himself a dinner of grilled chicken and steamed vegetables. But what he came home to instead was an email from Ketty.

 

 

>   
>    
>  To: Yuuri Katsuki  
>  From: Ketty Abelashvili  
>  Subject: Re: Music Revisions  
>    
>  Hey Yuuri!  
>  I just got finished with your piece, but I ended up recording it twice. I couldn’t decide which one would sound better or work better for you, so feel free to choose whichever!  
>  Here are the files, and good luck!  
>    
>  -Ketty  
>    
>  [Attachment 1](https://youtu.be/7btsuRT3M1Q):    
>  [Attachment 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rwvF1Lgh61w): 
> 
>  

  
While Yuuri was surprised that there were two files, he was honestly more unprepared for having to make a decision between the two. However, he was still excited and surprisingly hopeful that at least one of these pieces would be the one for him to skate to.  
  
He quickly plugged in his headphones into his laptop and went to go sit down in the living room and listen to the songs.  
  
When he pressed play, trills of bright and cheerful piano began flooding his ears. The melody definitely reminded Yuuri of the first piece that Ketty had composed for him, but it was by far and away a _different_ piece. This one was so much more hopeful, more jovial and had more substance. The tempo was upbeat and it was done in a major key that had a gentle yet steady and full refrain playing over the top of the bright trills.  
  
Gradually, a powerful but not overpowering drum beat and snare joined in. This was something entirely different from before. The power coming from this piece resonated with Yuuri with every drum hit and crescendo of the piano. He could actually envision himself skating to and winning with this piece. The chorus of light strings, drums and the ever-present piano truly did feel like it represented Yuuri and his skating career.  
  
About a minute and a half into the song, there was a sudden quiet and dramatic shift to a few lone piano notes. The music felt cold, alone and distant. While yes, all those things could be said about Yuuri and his career, and even his current situation. However, the thought of him spiraling and gliding across the ice alone during that part felt… wrong. Even as the tempo increased to it’s previous intensity where the pianissimo turned into a grand fortissimo, something wasn’t right.  
  
This piece felt.... like Yuuri was alone until he found skating. That yes, he had been through ups and downs, but it gave off the tone that he had an illustrious career that he almost lost and was picking himself back up and fighting for. Again, while that might not have been _wrong_ , it didn’t accurately convey what this season and what this song should represent for him.  
  
Then as the song came to an ending chord, it clicked: this song felt like it represented _love._ That Love flowed through every harmony and rhythm. But that _love_ sounded as if Yuuri had been searching for that love and finally now had the chance to show it off to the world.  
  
That wasn’t what Yuuri wanted. Yes, he loved skating and he loved the ice. Yuuri has been fighting for his place out on the ice and had been fighting for love for so long. Yes, he had been fairly lost without figure skating, but this wasn’t the type of love he felt for it anymore.  
  
Being out on the ice had given Yuuri a home. It had helped him find himself and learn to love himself. It had helped Yuuri learn how to see the love and the support his family had always so freely given him. Figure skating had helped him find friends and a purpose. And through his disease and through his career, Yuuri had been given something to truly live and fight for.  
  
Yes, he really did like this piece.... but something was still a little off and didn’t feel quite right. So he let the next track play as he hoped that this one would click.  
  
If Yuuri hadn’t just listened to the previous track, and didn’t know much about music, he probably would have thought this was exactly the same track. Of course, Ketty had said she had recorded it twice, so it _was_ technically the same song. But immediately, Yuuri could tell this was a different feeling and panged a different chord in his heart and resounded so much deeper.  
  
This piece was in a slightly different key — only maybe one step higher, but the difference was there. The piano almost sounded like two people were playing at the same time, and were chasing each other with the melody to create a pseudo-round.  

Unlike the other recording, this one was obviously done on a grand piano and the sound it created was so much fuller and deeper. It also almost sounded like it had been recorded in a concert hall, or at least some studio that had amazing acoustics; this immediately excited Yuuri because he wanted to hear it playing over the speakers in a rink _now._  
  
Compared to the other song, the tone and emotion behind this piece was so much more intense and bright and jarring. Even though it was technically the same song, the part where the drums and strings would have originally come in felt so _different_ . This piece was only done with piano, and while originally Yuuri would have thought that would have made it less interesting than the previous recording that was done with multiple instruments, _this_ piece had layers to the emotion and meaning.

Yuuri could already imagine skating to this piece, and his arms and feet were twitching as he could already feel the choreography that he _needed_ to perform for this song. The overall tone sounded _desperate_ and it struck a chord deep within his chest because it so accurately portrayed Yuuri’s experiences with his career and now with his disease. Even though he knew this program was going to be so draining and it would require so much energy, Yuuri could see himself really _performing_ it and giving it his whole heart. It would be insane and intense and tiring… but Yuuri had the stamina.

He could do it. Especially if this was possibly the last program he would ever skate, Yuuri _needed_ this to be the one, because he knew it was something he could be truly proud of.

The shift in emotion and the barren feeling the piano portrayed as it echoed itself, hit the very core of Yuuri’s emotions deep inside of Yuuri’s chest. This somehow perfectly represented exactly how he felt when he he first fell into a Hanahaki attack, only to be greeted with a single blue rose that signified his death.

He had been alone.

Scared.

Frantic.

Like he was running out of time.

But just like how the music began picking up, and more chords and notes and harmonies started joining in to support that lone piano... so did Yuuri’s family and the rest of his support system. Yuuri _thought_ he had to be alone and scared, but now he knew that he didn’t have to be. This music was filled with hope — and just like his life and his skating career, it felt like he had something left to fight for and to prove.  
  
This was it.  
  
The ending and crescendo of the music would require Yuuri to pull out all of the stops with his choreography and technique, but this was exactly how he could show himself off to the world in one last ditch attempt to make history. To make his mark. To skate. To perform. To live life and to love, with whatever time he still had left.  
  
It ended with hope and joy that resounded through the final piano trills and the reverberation that filled him with a warmth and almost felt like a hug. The feeling was as if Minako, Mari, his mom and dad, Yuuko, Takeshi, the triplets, Phichit and Celestino... everyone who had ever been there for him and who had supported him were there on the ice with him. Like he wasn’t alone.

This piece was proof that he really could do this — and he would win with it.

++++++++

The next morning, Yuuri couldn’t wait to show Celestino. He literally _ran_ out of the apartment because he was so excited to get his approval and to finally start choreographing this piece. The thought of whether or not Celestino would like it or the possibility that it _wouldn’t_ be the career defining piece he knew it would be, never even crossed Yuuri’s mind.

Luckily, Celestino agreed with Yuuri; that this piece was going to put him on top of the podium. Or at least, they would try, and the only person who could stop him would be Phichit — at least if he had anything to say about it. But even if he hadn’t liked the song, Celestino knew he couldn’t stop a stubborn Yuuri who was dead set on an idea— and he wouldn’t even want to. If the last 5 years had been anything to go off of, Yuuri wasn’t going to settle for “good enough”. For their entire coaching partnership, Ciao Ciao had wanted to see this confident and passionate Yuuri that he knew was inside of him all along. He _knew_ what a powerful force Yuuri was to reckon with, and that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. And _that_ was what Celestino wanted Yuuri to put out on the ice, because he was just that good.

Even if it took falling so hard last season, and some life-or-death encouragement from a deadly disease… Celestino was glad that Yuuri’s flip had finally switched. Now he could truly bring out Yuuri’s potential, and hopefully help him make history.

The next step was to plan out the elements for the free skate, and then choreograph around them to fill out the program. Celestino knew that Yuuri wanted to do more quads and increase his difficulty, but it was still a hard sell when Yuuri had barely ever even landed his Salchow in practice…

But Yuuri was _stubborn._ If he wanted to do more quads, and if he wanted to add more jumps at the end of his program, he was going to do it. Whether or not if Celestino wanted him to do it didn’t matter — because Yuuri would still do it anyway, even if it meant getting yelled at after the competition was over. So, it would behoove them to officially put it into the routine that way, so that Yuuri could at least practice it like he was going to perform it.

Yuuri was determined to learn those quads; he was determined to _land_ those quads, and he was _going_ to use his stamina to power through the program and get those additional x1.1 point modifiers. Reluctantly, he agreed with Celestino to not put any new quads into the program until he could _actually_ land them, but there was always room to add and change them as the season went on. For now, they just needed to design the program to fit Yuuri’s strengths in order to get maximum points.

This meant putting both of his triple axels into the second half. This meant doing two combination jumps in the second half of the program. And this meant making his last jump the quadruple toe loop. God, would that be tough to do, but Yuuri was determined to power through.

Finally, after they both agreed on the composition of the program, they headed back to the ice.

“Oh, and Yuuri? Don’t you dare try and randomly change your jumps to quads during practice. That’s what the jumping harness is for. Practice there, and _maybe_ we can talk about adding them into the program.”

Yuuri gave a small but humorous sigh and shook his head. Celestino really did know him too well.

++++++++

The rest of the summer before the skating season began was filled with _work_. Never before was Yuuri so free and open to do nothing but skate. Now that he was out of school, his only job was to skate and improve and compete.

It was grueling work unlike any he had ever done before. Yuuri had never been this sore, he had never been this exhausted, and he had never been this _excited_ to put a set of programs out onto the ice. These programs and this skating truly represented who Yuuri _was_ and put it out there onto the ice for the whole world to see. His struggles, his passion, his drive… it was 100% Yuuri Katsuki.

Which was why “Yuri on Ice” was the only name he could possibly give to his free skate.

In between the grueling on ice practice, training time with the jump-harness, and his in-studio dance work, Yuuri made sure to take the time to look after his health. He scheduled therapy sessions with Dr. Cooper-Dhaliwal for every other week, and it was a much needed break. Both him and Dr. Alicia knew how overworked his anxiety could be, and how detrimental that was to his skating. But what they also learned, is how much it affected his Hanahaki as well.

By some miracle it seemed, Yuuri barely even needed to take his suppressants anymore for normal practice. If he even had any attacks, they were incredibly minor and usually only resulted in a few small petals coming up. They often times were only as bad as intense hiccups, rather than a debilitating coughing fit complete with bile and nausea. Not only did this take an enormous load of stress off of Yuuri’s shoulders as he no longer had to fear breaking into a sudden fit, but it made him _feel_ better too. Almost as if he wasn’t dying.

It was refreshing to just _live_ and skate like he wanted to, because that was why he chose to come back. _This_ was what he wanted to do with the rest of his life, and skating was the thing that made him feel _alive._

Finally by the time September rolled around, and it was time to head back to Japan, Yuuri was ready — and he was finally ready to fight for his place in the spotlight.

++++++++

The trip to Japan was luckily rather uneventful. Or, at least as uneventful as an entire 18 hours worth of travel time could be. Until he had to be back on a plane traveling back home, Yuuri had almost forgotten that this was _exactly_ the reason why he hadn’t gone home for the previous 5 years. Sure, there were some pretty cheap roundtrip flights out of Cleveland or Cincinnati for around $600-$800 that he had looked up whenever he got homesick… but the biggest issue was _time._

The legitimate shortest time it would take to get from Detroit back home to Hatsetsu would come to around 18 hours if he was _lucky._ But on average? Most flights plus the time to drive to an airport, or take a train home came to well over 22 hours of straight travel.

Luckily since this trip home was for a competition rather than vacation, Yuuri could at least justify the pricey ticket from Detroit to Fukuoka that would leave him the most time to prepare and not live inside of a stale airport terminal. But, if he did end up keeping his promise of going home more often… Yuuri would definitely have to look into some of the _better value_ flights out of the neighboring airports.

Unsurprisingly, Japan and Hatsetsu hadn’t really changed much over the course of 4 months. But it was still shocking to see his face plastered all over the walls in the airport and plane terminals _just_ because he was a minor local celebrity. He personally didn’t understand why they all cared about him, since it was only due to the fact he was from Hatsetsu. It’s not like he was a world champion or anything; he had barely even made the Olympic team last quadrennial.  Yuuri Katsuki was no Victor Nikiforov — that was plain to see — which made it impossible for Yuuri to understand why anyone would care about a dime-a-dozen figure skater like him…

He could feel a slight pain in his chest and a general soreness begin to take his body, but Yuuri largely attributed that to exhaustion and the minor-malnutrition that happened any time he traveled for such long periods of time. What he needed was a 16-hour long nap, and a giant bowl of katsudon and he would be fine. Hopefully, he could return to Yu-topia with a win and _finally_ earn a bowl of his favorite dish.

The plan was for Yuuri to travel to the Chugoku, Shikoku and Kyushu Regional Championships with Minako as his ‘coach’ and traveling companion. She had been planning on going to see Yuuri compete _anyway_ , but for her to take on that role made almost too much sense. If there was one person on earth who was qualified for the job of “Yuuri Katsuki’s mentor, teacher and emotional support” it was Minako. And that sentiment was an even smarter idea when taking into account the load of financial and general stress it would take off of his shoulders that would have been there is Celestino had come instead.

Minako had acted as Yuuri’s coach before, but she hadn’t since his days in Juniors and before he went off to America to train. It was honestly refreshing, and reminded them both of a simpler time. Just like in the dance studio, Minako could be strict and unyielding when she needed to be; but as Yuuri was more than well aware of, she also was one of the most sensitive and supportive people that he had ever met.

Having known Yuuri since he was little, Minako knew what made Yuuri tick; she knew what gave him anxiety, she knew how competitions affected him, and she usually knew what Yuuri needed. Did that mean that Yuuri ever listened? No, not really; because he was stubborn in the worst ways sometimes. And that meant that even if Yuuri knew the advice was good, sometimes his anxiety and panic-mode would still take over as if he had no self-control.

Even so, Minako still _tried_ to get Yuuri to listen and take it easy. This was a _regional qualifying championship_ , not some big international competition. Yuuri was the oldest and most seasoned competitor by a _large_ margin. Minami Kenjirou of Fukuoka was the only other competitor who had even had any international experience. But even then, as long as Yuuri didn’t completely implode like he had at Nationals, Yuuri’s average early season scoring should still put a large point spread in between himself and the nearest competitor.

Which is why Minako _tried_ and practically _begged_ Yuuri to focus on his performance and not his jumps at this competition. The last thing that Yuuri needed to do was go insanely overboard with every quad and axel in his program, and fall on each one. What would be _smarter,_ would be to downgrade his jumps to triples instead of forcing out a quad and sacrificing the performance value of both pieces. Minako _knew_ both of Yuuri’s programs intimately, and she knew just how special they could be if Yuuri really showed _himself_ out on the ice and performed. If Yuuri could do that… he wouldn’t even need a quad to win.

However, Yuuri being Yuuri, didn’t listen. Sometimes, it was due to anxiety and adrenaline causing him to over-rotate his jumps. Sometimes, he was just too stubborn and didn’t want to water down his program. Other times, muscle memory was just too strong and Yuuri forgot that he wasn’t supposed to be doing a quad until he was already 2 and a half revolutions into a jump. By then, it was far too late, and Yuuri had to deal with the step outs and falls as a consequence.

With a sigh, Minako reluctantly resigned herself back into her job as a supporter rather than an acting-coach. The least she could do was keep Celestino updated on his progress and performance; because Minako knew that those updates would be very important benchmarks for the rest of his season. And because Yuuri being Yuuri, was the absolute worst at ever talking about himself, especially in a fair light. If Phichit hadn’t been _Phichit,_ Yuuri probably wouldn’t have even been updating his best friend if it weren’t for the near constant buzzing of his phone that could have only come from the Thai boy.

Yuuri was beyond lucky to have the three of them to support him along the way, and he honestly didn’t feel he even deserved it. But god, there was no way that Yuuri was going to waste this opportunity and gift that the world had given him.

Just like how he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity he had been given with skating either. Somehow, despite two falls between both of his programs, as well as a few other minor grade of execution errors, Yuuri flew into first by an enormous margin. Even though Yuuri’s anxiety basically had made it impossible to really _perform_ his programs, and Yuuri knew that he could do better, he had somehow managed to earn a new Personal Best in the short by almost 10 whole points. Or, at least it would have been, if this competition was an officially sanctioned ISU competition.

It honestly felt so strange for Yuuri to be seated so comfortably ahead of anyone else by a full 30 points, but it didn’t feel wrong. This competition reminded Yuuri of his roots — and how he too had started from the bottom and worked his way up to the world stage. The whole experience was humbling; and it showed him that even at the smallest competition, he could still impact the lives of his fans and encourage them.

Despite Yuuri’s inability to “chill” during his competition, that was all he had scheduled for almost an entire week after the competition. It was so nice to be rewarded with a trip home after a stressful and non-stop practice schedule over the last 5 months.

Hatsetsu was home for Yuuri, in more ways than one — and it wasn’t until he had left that he really grew to appreciate it as the home and the support system he had always needed. Being back home with no schedule or real responsibilities was something Yuuri hadn’t even known he needed until now — but god was it nice.

Yuuri tried to make use of this time to practice on his own and do run throughs at the Ice Castle, which was something he gravely missed back in Detroit. There, he always had to share the rink with someone else, or be under the watchful eye of Ciao Ciao. It was impossible to just go to the rink and just skate there, unlike at the Ice Castle.

Grateful didn’t even begin to cover the emotions that Yuuri felt because he was able to spend unencumbered time with his family. Since he was no longer stressed with trying to finish choreographing his programs like he was over the summer, and since he was no longer trying to balance 7 classes in addition to skating… Yuuri was actually able to enjoy his time with his family and not feel guilty about it.

This time around, he didn’t need to feel guilty about not coming home often enough, because he was going to change that. Unlike before, he didn’t need to feel guilty about not helping out enough around the onsen, cuz oh boy did the Katsuki’s put him to _work_. Not even the secret of his Hanahaki weighing down in his shoulders could take away the warm feeling of being back at home in the place that he loved with the people that he loved.

Sure, Yuuri still felt the small pool of guilt sitting in his stomach, but it wasn’t unbearable. Was he hiding it from his parents, but all he wanted to do was not hurt them until he could actually take the action required to fight his disease. So, everything was going to plan.

Just before he was scheduled to head back to Detroit, Yuuri attended the annual JSF press conference for the Japanese skaters taking part in this season’s Grand Prix series. While Yuuri knew that  he would be asked countless questions about his decision to keep skating, his return to Detroit, and about his recent regional competition… The only thing he could think about throughout the whole event was his theme for the season: Love.

“Next we have Skater Katsuki Yuuri, who is thought to be the next leader of men’s singles in Japan. Um… please show us your theme for this year…”

When prompted, Yuuri placed a simple board with one kanji written on it that read “Love” alongside his name.

“My theme for this year’s Grand Prix series is “ **Love** ”.

Even just hearing those words come out of his own mouth sounded foreign to Yuuri. What did _he_ know about ‘love’, anyway? It’s not like he had ever been in a relationship before, much less ever be in love with someone else...

But after thinking long and hard about his career, about his Hanahaki, and about his fleeting mortality — ‘Love’ was the only word that he thought fit.

“I’ve been helped by so many people in my competitive skating career thus far, but I've never really thought about love until now. Although I’ve been blessed with support, I could never take full advantage of it. I always felt like I was fighting alone.”

Yuuri’s love wasn’t a romantic love, a platonic love or even a familial love. For him, the word ‘love’ wasn’t so clear-cut. To Yuuri, what he felt was overwhelming support and comfort from those closest to him. All the people who Yuuri loved, gave him so much help and support throughout his entire life, and it had all led up to this point in his life.

When Yuuri needed them most, they were always there every step of the way. They never doubted him or told him to give up on his dreams. Instead, they met him halfway and always offered their love and support no matter what. To Yuuri, _this_ was ‘Love’.

“But so much has happened ever since last year’s nationals. I have had to make basically life and death situations, and choices between my career and retiring. But because of all of these things and the support from my family... I’ve seen something totally different.”

“My ‘love’ is not something clear-cut like romantic love — but it’s more the abstract feeling of my relationships with my family, my hometown, my friends and my coach… I was finally able to realize that something like love exists all around me — and always has.”

Yuuri exhaled slightly to steady himself, then took in a deep breath before continuing.

“It may have taken hitting rock bottom, but now I have something to keep fighting for and keep skating for! **I** don't really have a name for that emotion, but I have decided to call it “love”.”

Now that I know what love is and because I am stronger for it, I’ll prove it to myself and the whole world with a Grand Prix Final gold medal!”

As silence and awe struck the crowd, Yuuri felt his mind race and face flush. He had just declared his love and his ultimate goal to the entire world.

With the power of love, Yuuri was ready to begin his season and to blossom into the _new_ Yuuri Katsuki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all!!! I am so excited to get this fic out in about a week, which _baffles_ me because I usually plan and write so slowly. BUT I am trying to do NaNoWriMo this year, and even if I don't finish the 50,000 word goal, I still hope to be getting this fic updated as quickly as possible! (also if you want to be my buddy on the NaNoWriMo site, here is my [profile](https://nanowrimo.org/participants/electra-sinclair)!) 
> 
> Thanks so much for all of your amazing feedback and continued reading! I am so excited for the rest of this story, and it means so much to me that y'all like it too! See y'all next chapter!


	4. "To Convey a Loneliness From the Giver"

# Chapter 4

### Gardenia — “Conveys Loneliness From the Giver"

Once September flew by and Yuuri returned back to Detroit, the skating season came like a tidal wave. Somehow, even though October was a full 31-day month, it passed by for Yuuri in the blink of an eye.

From the moment he landed in Detroit, the only thing on Yuuri’s mind was 24/7 skating. After regionals, no matter how well it may have gone, there were so many minute details and errors and corrections that Yuuri _needed_ to fix. Over-rotated jumps, two-footed landings, falls, too much ice coverage for his spins, emotionless sections in the choreography, and so many other details that Yuuri began to _nitpick_.

In his 5 year tenure at the Detroit Skating Club, Celestino had never seen Yuuri more focused or more dedicated to improvement. Sure, Yuuri has always loved skating and had always found comfort on the ice. But this year, it was almost as if skating a clean program was the difference between life and death. And technically for Yuuri — it was.

Yuuri had never been the type of skater to psych himself out early on in the season by absorbing every minute of skating coverage or videos that were posted online. That was far more up Phichit’s alley, but that was because he Thai boy thrived online and it fueled his extrovertedness and social stamina. He loved seeing his friends compete and do well all across the world, even if it was just so he could give them a truthful compliment on how well they had done that weekend. Even watching the B-Internationals and Challenger Series gave Phichit joy, because seeing the diverse pool of up-and-coming international skaters who were often from smaller federations like himself, reminded him of how far he had come. And how far he still had to go.

On the other extreme, skating coverage and news was the exact reason that Yuuri never used social media. His anxiety and sense of self-worth always tricked him into reading articles and predictions and all of the terrible things that skating fans wrote about him and his friends. Sure, there were some nice things scattered in there sometimes, but the only things his anxiety ever understood one thing and one thing only from that news: Yuuri Katsuki is a failure.

Once Yuuri had begun semi-regular appointments with Dr. Alicia, however, he learned to tune it out. Or at least, if he couldn’t, he learned to just not look at all. It was then that Yuuri realized he didn’t need social media if the only thing it was giving him was stress. Even if Phichit gave him a lot of Phi-shit for it, it was honestly nice not feeling obligated to spend every waking minute checking forums and walls and newsfeeds

Sometimes however, Yuuri succumbed to the niggling urge to find out how much better people were doing than he was, or how much everyone hated his skating. Was it _ever_ a good idea? No. But the temptation sometimes was too much. Just like after the Grand Prix Final.

But this season, Yuuri was focused.

Literally until the moment that Phichit left for Skate America, Yuuri had completely forgotten that the international figure skating season had even started already. If his rinkmates hadn’t been watching the competition right in the lounge off ice, Yuuri probably wouldn’t have even seen Phichit skate.

Of course, he wouldn’t have missed his best friend competing for the world. But as soon as he hit the final reaching pose of “Shall We Skate”, Yuuri left to go back out onto the ice. He didn’t need to hear the scores to know how it went. Phichit skated amazingly; almost as good as in practice, with only a few small bobbles on his jumps. Plus, no matter what happened that weekend, Yuuri knew Phichit would spill all of the gossip about how he got back to Detroit.

The Free Skate went about the same, albeit with a few more bobbles and one fall on his quad toe loop. Yuuri really hoped that had at least been enough to him a medal, because Phichit’s choreography for “Terra Incognita” was _stunning_ , and he deserved high PCS for it.

When Sunday night came around, and Phichit arrived back at the apartment from the airport, he looked exhausted. And deservedly so — because he had poured his little heart out on the ice. No matter how much energy anyone had, competitions were always draining.

In the end, that fall _had_ been enough to push Phichit off of the podium, and Leo de la Iglesia had won gold on his home ice. Otabek Altin and Guang Hong Ji rounded off the podium, and Yuuri had the pleasure of knowing that just from the _first_ Grand Prix event, he would already be competing against two medalists plus his best friend in China. Great.

Surprisingly, Phichit was no worse for wear, and immediately got right back to training as if everything was just as it was when he had left for Skate America.

“Well hey, I still got 4th didn’t I? That just means I have to beat you in China, Yuuri, so you better stay on your toes!” He said with a mischievous glint in his eye and lilt to his smile.

The two weeks in between Skate America and when the group had to leave for the Cup of China seemed to go by without a hitch. Both boys put their noses to the grindstone and hardly even took a single break besides for food and sleep.

Come Wednesday, the gang was scheduled to leave for Beijing later that afternoon. Albeit a long and rather annoying trip due to the jetlag, it was luckily rather straightforward and worry free since there was a nonstop flight from Detroit to Beijing. They did, however, have to leave a day early so they could make it in time for the draw and official on-ice practice.

However anything “easy” about that trip jumped right out the window when Yuuri woke up that morning with a coughing fit.

Since Yuuri’s last growth had came at the beginning of July, his Hanahaki fits had been few and far between — and had been a lot less painful than _this_ . He was overdue for his third growth, if his body was going to follow the vague outline Dr. Khanna and him had made for what to expect… but since when did his body ever listen to reason? If anything, the more _Yuuri_ thing for his body to do would be to make them anxiously wait for the next growth… wouldn’t that be _so much better_ than it coming right before Yuuri left for his first big competition of the year?!

Well, Yuuri Katsuki had never really been lucky.

Over the last four months, Yuuri had grown so used to not feeling like he was _dying_ . If he even had any attacks at _all_ , they were minor at the _worst_ . But **this** — this was almost as bad as the first morning he had woken up and felt like he was being strangled by thorns and roots.

The suffocation immediately awoke his anxiety and his fight or flight instincts, and Yuuri knew he was probably going to end up waking Phichit up with his his loud and violent hacking. But that was the least of his worries as he hobbled toward his bathroom door, barely making it in before he fell over by his toilet. The deja vu was ironic and palpable as Yuuri could feel the tears welling in his eyes from the pain and pressure of his coughs, as well as the cold linoleum seeping through the fabric of his pajama bottoms. It was the same lonely, painful feeling of death that he had longed to forget ever since that fateful morning so many months ago.

Surprisingly, the bile and nausea wasn’t nearly as overpowering as he had expected, but that was probably because loose petals and the other small bits were coming up easier than normal. Yuuri could hear the small _plop_ of something hitting the faux-porcelain and water in the toilet, but he didn’t care because he was still coughing. For now, breathing was much higher up on the importance scale than looking to see what exactly was in the toilet.

Soon enough, the wave of nausea came and the source of tears changed from sheer pain, to the desperate need for it to be _over_. He could feel his trachea heaving and pulsing as whatever decided to come out of his lungs and stomach made its way up and out of him. The flower was big but smooth, and Yuuri could feel multiple petals tickling the inside of his throat and mouth before he could finally extricate it.

The wave of nausea was soon replaced with relief, because Yuuri felt that at least for now, it was over. With a quick swipe of his sleeve from under his glasses to clear the tears that had formed, he opened his eyes to look at the damage.

Small boats of black were floating in the water, surrounding a giant tulip island in the middle. No, on closer look, the petals were a deep purple that were so dark they appeared black in the dim light. It was a fitting color, because the only thing Yuuri could think of when he saw them was the bleak and timely death that was slowly catching up to him.

A meek and muted knock from outside his bedroom door subtly reached Yuuri’s ears after a few minutes, signaling that yes, he had woken up Phichit.

After a small pause, the Thai boy opened the door and walked into the bathroom holding a small glass of water and a towel, presumably for Yuuri. There was a sympathetic expression which looked out of place on his normally exuberant countenance, but it quickly turned a shade worried and frantic when he saw the dark color reflecting in Yuuri’s glasses.

“Oh Yuuri....” He quickly knelt down next to his frail looking friend, who probably didn’t even realize that his whole body was shivering with a mix of pain, cold and anxiety. Phichit gently began rubbing small circles on Yuuri’s back, trying to warm him up and comfort him in case of any aftershocks or smaller attacks that could rack through his body if he hadn’t expelled all of the flowers.

With a small breath, Phichit bent forward to pick up the large tulip bulb out of the bowl, and placed it in the sink. Even if Yuuri probably didn’t want to see the physical manifestation of the third stage of his disease, it would be much easier to research and record it if they could preserve it for the doctor.

Or, for if Yuuri ever begrudgingly got on the _apps_.

Phichit quickly pulled up a google search on his phone, to see if there was any information he could find about the flower.

Apparently, purple tulips represented elegance, grace and strength — all descriptions that Yuuri sardonically laughed at, because those all were the exact opposite of anything Yuuri felt. “Fame”? “Royalty”? “Prosperity?” In what world did any of these even _remotely_ describe Yuuri Katsuki.

Before Phichit could list off any other meanings, Yuuri half-heartedly pushed Phichit’s phone away in an attempt to silence his friend.

“Phichit, please... just...” Yuuri couldn’t even finish his miserable plea with anything other than a dejected sigh.

All Phichit wanted to do was help his best friend; even though it didn’t hurt nearly as much it obviously hurt Yuuri, Phichit still felt helpless. He understood why Yuuri didn’t want to know, but his own feverish sense of optimism always urged him to look for the positives — and anything that could maybe help Yuuri find his soulmate. Even if it was a long shot.

When the weight of the situation finally diminished a bit more, Phichit looked at the time. 10:30 a.m.

Although their flight to Beijing wasn’t until around 2 that afternoon, they all still had to deal with TSA. And unsurprisingly, traveling internationally out of the United States with foreign passports was not always the easiest or simplest thing in the world. Phichit himself had been subject to more than a few “randomly selected” searches by the TSA, and both Yuuri and Phichit knew that they couldn’t afford to show up late to the airport.

This meant that even if by some miracle, Dr. Dhaliwal-Cooper was free for an emergency appointment, there was no chance that the three of them could make it there and to the airport on time for their flight.

So Yuuri resigned himself to the fact he would have to travel to Beijing, compete and return before he could even get any answers about his Hanahaki status. The Cup of China was not looking nearly as fun for Yuuri as it had been before.

Luckily, the drive to the airport and the security checks were fairly routine and without incident. While Celestino and Phichit waited in the terminal for their boarding group, Yuuri used the time to call Dr. Khanna and talk to her about his most recent development.

Although she was worried for his anxiety and weakened state before travel and competition, she was not too concerned with the timeline. If anything, the almost four months in between growths was a good sign in terms of his life expectancy. Combined with the lessened frequency of minor attacks in between growths, and Dr. Khanna sounded honestly optimistic.

Before they hung up, she reminded Yuuri that if he needed anything over the next week before he got back to Detroit, that both her and Alicia were available on speed dial for any emergency. Yuuri profusely thanked her before sliding his call button to ‘end’, and took a deep breath. He could still feel a slight rattling in his chest, but that was honestly normal for a few hours after an attack.

While he was not excited for the week to come, talking with Dr. Khanna did relieve a few of his anxieties, at least for the time being.

When their boarding group was called, Yuuri, Phichit and Ciao Ciao took their seats on the plane, and Yuuri quickly downed a pair of suppressants with some water. Hopefully, it would keep the plane ride from being more miserable than it had to be.

+++++++++

Yuuri had obviously been too hopeful. While the suppressants did do their job, and Yuuri didn’t have any coughing fits or Hanahaki-related nausea, the plane ride was still an absolute **nightmare**.

Whether or not it was due to any Hanahaki jitters, or just from Yuuri’s naturally occurring overwhelming anxiety, every single bump and turbulent patch made Yuuri’s heart race. It was almost like his body was so used to the feeling of dying, it was in a constant state of fight or flight. And this flight was really making him want to fight. 

The adrenaline which was coursing through his veins to no end, combined with his anxious thoughts about the competition and his own mortality made it impossible for Yuuri to get any sleep whatsoever. No mind-numbing phone games, no music, no in-flight movies, nothing could sufficiently distract him.

Of course, both Phichit and Ciao Ciao could probably sleep through the end of the world if they had to, so they were absolutely no help.

Although _apparently_ Yuuri had fallen asleep at some point, because he was very rudely jerked awake when the plane let out it’s landing gear... Yuuri still felt (and probably looked) like absolute death. Even if he had managed to doze off for maybe an hour, he could tell that the jet lag was going to be actual hell over the next few days.

+++++++++

Luckily none of their bags were lost, and their hotel was only a short cab ride away. Even though the entire trip and how long it took was inconvenient, arriving a day early definitely had its perks.

Rather than having to stress about making the draw or an official practice on time, they could relax until the morning. Phichit, being the on-the-verge-of-annoying little extrovert that he was, wanted to go sightseeing and go out to eat with their friends. That was easy for him to say, since both him and their coach had actually slept.

But even though he was exhausted, Yuuri knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep anytime soon anyway, so he reluctantly went along with them.

Over the last few years, sightseeing and “family dinners” had become a bit of a tradition whenever all of them were at the same competition. They had only ever been assigned to the same Grand Prix event once before, but Four Continents and Worlds ended up being a party every year. Phichit has basically taken it upon himself as a part-time job to be Yuuri’s personal tour guide. Which really meant that he dragged Yuuri everywhere so he wouldn’t just hole himself up in his hotel room.

The hotpot was great, but as usual, Celestino drank _way_ too much. So, the only two _real_ adults ended up having to take care of him, and bring him back to their hotel. Somehow, it always surprised the two skaters how low their coach’s tolerance actually was (especially compared to Yuuri), and they always managed to underestimate either how little it took to get Celestino drunk… or just how much he would end up drinking.

Once the two managed to get Ciao Ciao tucked into bed with some pain-killers and water waiting for him when he woke up, Phichit still had at least two reserve containers full of energy left to burn before he was ready to turn in for the night.

The two end up meeting Leo and Guang Hong at a small street fair with a bunch of vendors selling food and wares. While Phichit immediately fell into a comfortable conversation with the two younger boys, Yuuri was happy just having them as company, and specifically having Guang Hong and Leo as guides and translators, since both boys knew Chinese. His introverted nature didn’t prevent him from enjoying being around his friends, but luckily they knew Yuuri well enough to know that just because he wasn’t a part of the conversation, didn’t mean he felt left out. Plus, Yuuri genuinely enjoyed their company.

Even compared to Phichit, Yuuri would definitely consider the other two friends. He had competed a few times against Leo while they were both still in juniors, and all 4 of them always had fun together at Four Continents and Worlds. Even without Phichit there at World Team Trophy, Yuuri usually got to let loose a little around the Leo and Guang Hong at the “competition” (which could be more accurately described as an exhibition with scores). But that didn’t make it any less fun.

As they were all walking and having fun, Yuuri briefly caught sight of Georgi Popovich who appeared to be walking on the other side of the street. He gave a brief wave of acknowledgement and a small awkward smile, because he had almost forgotten that the Russian was competing that weekend too. Unlike the other  competitors that Yuuri knew, he didn’t know Georgi that well — and the other 3 probably barely knew him at all. So it was probably a good idea to just let him be on his own, like the Russian had been doing already.

However, seeing Georgi reminded Yuuri of some gossip he had heard via Phichit.

Apparently, Georgi had been in a very serious and public relationship with a Russian Ice Dancer — at least until the girl, Anya, had contracted Hanahaki. It was a huge story in Russia and in the figure skating world (otherwise Yuuri probably wouldn’t have even known about it).

Anya luckily found her soulmate, a Russian hockey player, within a few months. However, that sadly wasn’t the end of it. She had originally planned to keep competing with her dance partner, and had even been assigned to the Cup of China originally. However, for some reason the Russian Skating Federation had announced her retirement and split from her former partner within hours of the original assignments being released.

Speculations ran wild all over social media, news websites and skating forums. The RSF refused to make any statement regarding their announcement, and all of Anya’s social media profiles were either deleted or made private — which only further fueled rumors.

Historically, Russia had been known to force relationships between their skaters; whether this was for image purposes, or to “enhance their bond as a pair”, it was hard to tell. However ever since the Hanahaki outbreak two years prior… No Russian skaters besides Anya had ever publicly come forward with a diagnosis. This fueled the rumor mill like wildfire, and claims that she was being forced to retire because of her disease and status were heard everywhere.

It was a fairly well known fact that Russia had very regulated media and new coverage, due to their government and their conservative history. This resulted mostly in propaganda, but it also ended up with there being almost zero coverage of anything Hanahaki related on any forms of media there. Yuuri was almost relieved for Anya’s sake that she was even able to find her soulmate so quickly, since everything he knew about Russia made it seem like any treatment or soulmate-matching services would have had to have been done through the black market.

Seeing Georgi made his stomach bubble with discomfort; because even though Georgi himself hadn’t gone through the disease… someone he had loved _had_. And even worse still, he had seen someone he loved taken from him because they weren’t soulmates. The conflicted and guilty feelings that welled inside of Yuuri nearly made his skin crawl because of the thin line he would have to tread this weekend. Not that he was planning on holding some huge “Hanahaki Reveal” press conference or anything… but after the events from earlier, it was still a fear of his that he would fall into an attack mid-competition.

Luckily, hearing the light-hearted jokes and jovial energy from his friends brought him back to the real world, and Yuuri continued on with them down the street.

However, looking at the three younger boys in front of him, Yuuri felt a pang of jealousy. Phichit was the oldest of them, but he was still almost 4 years younger than Yuuri. None of them had to worry about Hanahaki, or retiring or _dying_. Especially not Guang Hong, who was only 17 and literally couldn’t even contract Hanahaki yet. All 3 of them only had to worry about their own skating.

It kind of hurt to see them being so carefree and having so much fun — and even though it was nice to spend time with them, the only thing Yuuri could really think about is how this might be the last time he got to spend with all of them. If not now, maybe the Grand Prix Final. If not then, would Yuuri even make it until Four Continents? Would he even make it until Worlds? How long did he even have _left_?

Suddenly, Phichit grabbed Yuuri by the hand and started dragging him back towards the group with a knowing but sympathetic look. Yuuri hadn’t even realized he had gotten so lost in his thoughts that he had stopped walking, but he could very easily chock it up to jet lag and not being able to sleep on the plain.

Before too long, the group said their “goodbyes” and “good lucks” for the next day, and each group went their separate ways. It hadn’t gotten too late yet, only around 9 p.m., but it was still a good idea to at least _try_ and get some rest before official practices in the morning.

+++++++++

The draw and practice were fairly standard and uneventful, and Yuuri surprisingly felt _good_. All of his jumps felt solid. His new costume wasn’t pinching anywhere. The ice was clean and crisp and his blades weren’t digging in at all. Nothing too slippery or too tacky — and it honestly felt like Yuuri was in peak performance. Almost as if not even his anxiety or Hanahaki could change that.

That didn’t change the fact that he was still exhausted from the high intensity and high stress practice session when he stepped off of the ice. There sadly probably wasn’t enough time to head back to the hotel and take a nap before the Men’s event started, but if Yuuri was lucky, he could find a corner of the backstage area, and just zone out and watch a show on his phone before Phichit or Ciao Ciao ran off to find him for his warm up group. But all of those thoughts quickly left his head when he felt a warm and firm hand graze up and down almost the entirety of his backside.

As Yuuri shuddered and jumped at the overly-familiar touch, he yelped out: “Ch-Chris!!” Because there was only _one_ person that would ever _greet_ somebody that way.

Just as he had predicted, the smug Swiss skater was the source of the hand that was _still_ caressing his ass even through his tracksuit.

“It looks and feels like you’ve really gotten down to _business_ this season, haven't you Yuuri?” Chris said with an unabashed wink before finally removing his hand, to then place it on his own hips. He then gave Yuuri a serious once over before his expression formed more of a pout.

“Yuuri, why didn’t you and Phichit invite me out for hotpot and sightseeing last night… I had to explore Beijing all by my lonesome, instead of being surrounded by two handsome men such as yourselves…”

Yuuri just sighed and shook his head. “Chris, I don’t think I would have been able to handle you, Phichit _and_ a drunk Celestino the night before a competition… my head might have literally exploded.”

That comment made a hearty chuckle erupt from the Swiss man before he gently grasped Yuuri on the shoulder. “Oh Yuuri, how you wound me. You know that I am a perfect angel and gentleman.”

“Uh-huh, and I’m the president of the United States… You haven’t been an ‘angel’ since before your last Junior season… and even then, that title would be questionable at best…”

As Yuuri finished his last quip, he hadn’t even realized that Chris had started walking and leading Yuuri out of the main hall.

When they reached a more private section of the arena, Chris then turned to Yuuri with a serious and mildly-concerned look on his stubbled face. “Yuuri… Is anything…. Up…?”

The question made the Japanese man in question stiffen, but he shook his head in an automatic response.

“Well, I’m your friend and I’m worried about you…” Chris said with a sigh. “I was being truthful when I said you were keeping well trained and trim this year… but there’s an almost sallow tone to your skin... “ He took a short but deep breath before continuing, and the look on his face had a level of uneasiness and anxiety that Yuuri usually only saw in himself. “Your skin and eyes don’t shine as much as they used to and…”

He shook his head before looking at Yuuri with a sympathetic smile. It was almost as if somehow, even through his silence and non-answer, Chris still understood. “I wouldn't want one of my favorite competitors to lose his edge or fall ill, now would I?” Finally, the gentle and playful smile that Yuuri had come to know and love found it’s way back on to Chris’ face. “You can’t just leave me all alone with these youngsters… It would be so boring without you..”

A smile finally picked the corners of Yuuri’s mouth up as he found the strength to respond. “I’m fine Chris, don’t worry. It’s just the jetlag. And don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of leaving you with the kids. We can’t have THE Christophe Giacometti being seen as an old man, now can we?”

The air between them was lighter, and it honestly felt natural. Like they were back to being 16 and competing at Junior Worlds again -- with their whole careers ahead of them.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a cute little Thai snack who I haven’t seen since Worlds, and _merde_ did he look tasty during warm ups… Ciao for now Yuuri” Chris said while licking his rosy lips, in a tone that was indistinguishable from his normal flirtiness. And on the off chance that Chris _wasn’t_ joking, made the image all the worse. Even with the involuntary shudder at the image of those two trouble makers together, Yuuri managed a small wave and a _ganba_ before the Swiss man left.

Normally, competitions were always too fast paced and hectic for Yuuri’s anxiety, but today Yuuri just wanted to get on the ice and perform. He had felt good, and he desperately wanted the _Show to Go On._ To truly show off how far he had come and how high he had climbed back up after last year. This was his chance, this was his stage and this was his ice.

For the last however many years, Yuuri had stayed by Celestino’s side — but that was more out of convenience and obligation than anything. Yuuri knew that this competition was going to be more about Phichit than him from the get go, and that was fine. This always happened whenever they were at the same competition, and even more so when they were skating in the same group.

Phichit always preferred the comforting shoulder grabs from their coach, and just knowing that the Italian man was standing by the boards cheering him on was enough to increase his confidence. This made sense, because Celestino had been there for Phichit almost his entire skating career.  

Yuuri however, was used to being alone. Growing up, he had Minako as a mentor and coach. But before he had come to Detroit to train with Celestino, he had gone through at least 4 different coaches. Of course, none had ever been as supportive or understanding of Yuuri’s needs as Ciao Ciao was, but Yuuri often needed some alone time before he competed — and Celestino respected that.

The Thai boy was skating in the first group, which allowed Yuuri a chance to watch his friend in his element. His red and gold costume truly stood out on the ice; flashy, sparkly and perfectly complimenting Phichit’s skin tone and the song he was about to perform to.

As the music began playing, it was obvious that today would be Phichit’s breakthrough. He had an entirely different presence on the ice, and it was captivating. Every arm, every hand, every facial expression and every nuance in the choreography — he truly was the King _and_ the Skater out on the ice. Even with a fall, he still managed to fight for every element and perform throughout the entirety of the program. It was truly remarkable, and outside of the best practices, Yuuri didn’t know if he had ever seen Phichit so on his game.

Once his friend and coach began their trek towards the Kiss and Cry, Yuuri knew it was time to get serious. As he began a light jog around the backstage-warm up area to pump himself up and keep his energy up, Yuuri could vaguely hear the muted cheers and announcement of a score. While Yuuri couldn’t hear the exact number, it definitely sounded like Phichit went into first place — which was well deserved. After seeing that performance, Yuuri would probably even go out on a limb to say that his friend probably earned a new Season’s Best, if not a Personal Best.

He was incredibly proud, especially after growing up, competing and training together for so long, it was such an amazing feeling to know that both of them were really coming into their own this season. But along the same vein, Yuuri knew he had no room for error today on the ice.

Leo and Guang Hong had both earned medals at their first Grand Prix event, and Phichit was still in contention for a Grand Prix Final berth after his fourth place finish at Skate America. All 3 of them were so much closer to a Grand Prix Final berth than Yuuri was. Not to mention Christophe and Georgi, who were both far more experienced and had won far more competitions that Yuuri had ever. The Cup of China was going to be an uphill climb — and Yuuri’s make or break moment for this season.

This was it.

When Yuuri heard the call overhead for “Warm-up Group 2” to take the ice, he quickly removed his headphones and felt his game face take hold. With a quick removal of his skating guards, Yuuri took the ice to join the other 5 skaters on the ice.

Just like the show, the competition was _on_.

+++++++++

“ _Representing Japan: Yuuri Katsuki!_ ”

Yuuri’s mind focused on one thing and one thing only: putting his heart and soul onto the ice. This program meant so much to him, and this competition was his chance to prove himself. He had been so focused on the program and the music replaying in his head, that Yuuri hadn’t even payed attention to any scores or any skaters who had come before him. Without a second thought, Yuuri quickly shed his Team Japan jacket, gave one last confident nod to Celestino before handing it to him, and retaking the ice.  

Yuuri’s costume was made entirely of a matte-white stretch-fit jumpsuit. The costume came in at the waist with a built in belt. Between the trim cut and the thing skin-tight fabric, it really made note of Yuuri’s figure and all of his curves, along with his slimmed down body that he had worked so hard to tone over the off-season.

The neckline formed a _deep_ V-neck that surprisingly didn’t have any nude-mesh to make it appear a bit more ‘decent’. If it were any lower, Yuuri’s belly button and happy trail would surely be on display.

Rhinestone epaulets and mock-military straps decorated the shoulders and neckline of the top. The rainbow reflections and shine coming from the AB stones could be seen from probably anywhere in the arena, even though there was only a tasteful amount of stones on the shirt.

Yuuri’s sleeves were made of a light and billowy, but opaque white chiffon that was just barely see-through, and only gave a slight glimpse of Yuuri’s toned arms. The fabric came in at Yuuri’s wrists with a rhinestone cuff on each wrist, sparkling with the same rainbow kaleidoscope effect that carried throughout the whole costume.

The pants were made of a thicker white fabric than the top, but they still highlighted Yuuri’s thick and muscular thighs. Along the hips, there were rhinestones and button details that carried an air of continuity throughout the whole costume. Finally, the pants ended with stirrups which wrapped around his white boot covers.

Despite the sparkle and the risque cut/fabric choices, the overall look was one of simplicity. It fit Yuuri perfectly, both in his body and his personality. While being influenced and inspired by Freddie Mercury and some other famous Queen fashion choices, it was still _Yuuri Katsuki_ in every sense of the thread.

Compared to the bright red and gold appliques of Phichit’s costume, Leo’s yellow and orange jumpsuit, Chris’s overwhelming blue _Intoxication_ number, Georgi’s dark ruffled costume (complete with _that_ eyeshadow and lipstick) and Guang Hong’s red and black wrapped costume… Yuuri stood out. Even on the stark cold white of the ice, Yuuri’s white costume brought all eyes to him.

As he elegantly and smoothly glided out to center ice, he could feel a hush fall over the entire crowd. Whether it was in a good way or bad way, from shock or from disgust, Yuuri knew everyone in there was watching his every movement. And it felt good to be back in the spotlight again. This performance was going to set the tone for his season; either Yuuri was going to stay stagnant and in the shadows until he ultimately wilted away, or he was going to make a name for himself.

With a cocked shoulder and beveled toe pick, Yuuri struck his casual-yet-sassy pose and took a breath before feeling the pleasant silence resonate in anticipation of the opening notes of his program. The calm before the storm; a collective held breath taken in anxiety of what was to come.

Then as the telltale rhythmic cello beats came in — it was Yuuri’s time to shine.

Yuuri fluidly raised his head with the music, putting every ounce of tension and power through his arms in the opening choreography. Every last cell in his body, from his neck to the tips of his fingers was vibrating with the need to perform.

As the drum beat started, Yuuri began picking up speed on the ice and beginning his step sequence. If Yuuri was known for anything (besides his glass heart), it was his steps. For years, the only way he ever managed to climb onto any podium was through sheer willpower and pouring his heart and soul into his steps. The flick of his boots and blades, the deep edges, the expertly timed twizzles — it was as if he was literally carving a figure into the ice that read: _Yuuri Katsuki._

Before, he had always saved his step sequences for last; he had always been afraid of using too much energy at the beginning of a program for fear of falling on his jumps later. Now, all those conventions were being thrown out the window as Freddie Mercury’s voice bounced through the full arena. There was no time to take the easy way out any more, and if Yuuri was going to win gold, he would have to pull out all the stops.

With seemingly no effort at all, Yuuri shifted onto his back outside edge into a deep spread eagle as the lyrics went “On and on”. He carried all of that momentum into a smooth figure 8 which Yuuri _knew_ he would get high GOE for, before he elegantly exited out of it and into a small twizzle. His step sequence was musical in every sense of the word; the movements meshed both feminine and masculine energies, just as Queen did with their music in a dichotomy of gender expression. Yuuri hit every beat while still filling every _ooze_ of the strings and cello, before hearing the music shift into the next verse.

Then, Yuuri began his change foot camel spin; it was probably one of the simplest components of his entire program, but Yuuri did what he did best. Through his posture, his balance and focus through the tip of his blade, and through his energy in his hands, Yuuri filled every beat and revolution of the camel spin with textbook technique that no judge could see and deny him his points.

Soon, the element ended and Yuuri picked speed back up as the music crescendoed before the first note of the chorus. Without even as much as a prep, Yuuri propelled himself off the ice and into a near 180 degree Russian split jump on the crash of the first “The Show Must Go On!” — the hangtime was impeccable, and Yuuri held his arm above his head in a fist with ease.

The chorus was raucous and powerful, and Yuuri used the small remaining time before he knew where the halfway mark would start to hit a deep Ina Bauer. Each beat keeping track inside of Yuuri’s head before he finally hit it — halfway through the program, where all of his jumps were planned and they would each receive a x1.1 modifier.

From the deep Ina Bauer, Yuuri shifted his posture a minuscule amount along with his skates to use that as the entry and prep for his signature Triple Axel. The lyrics might have said that “Inside my heart is breaking”, but breaking was the exact opposite of what Yuuri was doing. He landed it so cleanly and without effort, that Yuuri literally had to stop himself from pumping his fist in excitement. Honestly, if his program wasn’t so packed, and he didn’t have to almost directly go into a flying sit spin, he would have reveled in just how _good_ that jump felt.

Immediately, Yuuri hurled his entire body into a difficult flying sit spin position as the song shifted back into a cello-filled bridge. The steady beat timed perfectly with his spin revolutions. Yuuri’s lean position soon shifted into a shoot-the-duck position, which he quickly transitioned into an extension as he pulled his body back upward. It fought against the centripetal force and momentum, but somehow Yuuri managed to raise his own speed despite that to match the growing music.

Perfectly along with the music, Yuuri finished the element and let the beat and lyrics flow within him to embody the “wings of a butterfly”. This carried him into an insanely fast spread eagle with a fist held high, which he used as a complex entry into his quadruple salchow. Yuuri had practically never landed that jump in competition — maybe 30% of the time at _best_ — but the glide of the ice beneath his skates and the thumping of the music within his veins felt so _right_ that Yuuri didn’t even worry.

Somehow even from that spread eagle, Yuuri already knew he was going to land that salchow. He didn’t even question it, and within just a few more beats, the chorus came blaring over the loudspeakers and signaled where Yuuri needed to thrust himself off of the ice and into his rotations.

Just as expected, a perfect landing that would for sure get him a high GOE with the difficult entry and his ease of movement. But Yuuri didn’t have time to be doing jump math or worrying about his score, because his last combination jump basically fed off of the momentum from his quad salchow.

With ease, Yuuri began a 3-turn entry on the end of the second repetition of the song’s title phrase. That prep took him flying into a rapid and fully-rotated quadruple toe loop, and effortlessly pushing off into his final jump: the triple toe loop.

The crowd was roaring, but the music and the pang of the guitar was the only thing Yuuri could hear as all of his worries and fears flew from his mind. He had landed all of his jumps, and the only thing left to do was to pour his whole soul into the last few phrases of his routine.

Yuuri didn’t care that there was probably a huge grin of relief and happiness plastered on his face, because this was exactly the program he had wanted. It didn’t matter if he was supposed to be “serious” or “stoic” for the judges, because Yuuri was having _fun._

Throughout the whole arena, the music was building and booming with the final lyrics, and Yuuri used that momentum to effortlessly begin a laborious side-layback spin. This combination was new to him this season, but it felt so right to punctuate his program with. The laybacks transformed into a haircutter spin where Yuuri grabbed his blade with one hand, and quickly pulled his whole leg upwards into a deep Biellmann on the lyrics “ _carry on_ — _with the_ — _shooooow”_.

Yuuri had always been flexible, and could jump and spiral and extend with the best of the ladies competitors, but he had never really felt comfortable bridging that line between the traditionally masculine and feminine skating components. Until now that is, because what better program to debut it in than Queen?

The Biellmann was a real showstopper, and as the music came to a grinding halt so did Yuuri by finishing off with a set of scratch spins that were too fast for the naked eye. On the final scream of the title song, Yuuri struck a breathless and powerful Freddie Mercury pose, and his whole mind went blank.

His ears were ringing and his chest was heaving as he held the final pose in silence; the sweat was dripping down from his forehead, and Yuuri could feel the fabric of his sleeves beginning to stick to his damp skin. It took a few moments before all of his senses finally began returning to his body and Yuuri truly realized that he had finished. The whole weight of that program and his mounted anxiety suddenly left his shoulders, and he could finally _breathe._

Cheers and applause gradually filled his ears, and Yuuri couldn’t tell if it was because of a delayed reaction or if his narrow focus had prohibited him from making sense of anything that wasn’t his music. But when he finally noticed it, the cheering was _overwhelming_ and it encompassed the entire arena. All around him, flowers and little plastic-wrapped toys and stuffed animals began to rain down onto the ice. He took his time bowing to each direction of the audience, but rather than sticking to the customary tradition and showing his gratitude, the long pauses were more for him to catch his breath and regain the feeling in his jelly-like legs.

After what felt like an eternity, Yuuri finally forced his shaking legs and feet to propel him across the ice and towards the boards. On the way, he picked up a large onigiri plush with a smile, and reached the exit where an ecstatic looking Celestino was waiting. Yuuri could still barely process or hear anything that was going on, but vaguely nodded to Celestino with an exhausted smile as he took his guards and jacket from him. 

Celestino was probably recapping the good and bad things of his program, as always. Or at least trying to tell Yuuri the things that the judges would give him good points for, even if the elements weren’t perfect. Normally Yuuri would appreciate it, because after performances his mind usually went _wild_ with hypotheticals and worst-case scenarios.

But surprisingly by the time they sat down in the Kiss and Cry, Yuuri’s mind wasn’t racing. It wasn’t playing back any mistakes or major errors that normally plagued his Kiss and Cry experience (and which usually ended in more _crying_ for Yuuri).

Yuuri couldn’t remember anything that he had messed up on. His mind immediately jumped to the idea that maybe he had blacked out, because there had to have been _something_ that went wrong. Spins, Jumps, Steps — something. He couldn’t even _remember_ the last time he had a clean program in _practice_ , much less a “perfect” one in competition. There was no way — Yuuri must have just already wiped it from his memory. Even without a fall, there was no way that Yuuri Katsuki could ever manage to pull off a no-fall, technically perfect program.

Not only could he not remember falling or messing up any elements, but he could barely even remember picking up the onigiri that he was hugging, because _when did he do that?!_ The only thing Yuuri really could remember is that skating that program felt _good._ He felt _happy_ to perform out on the ice; and the muted but still raucous applause that echoed through the arena made it seem like everyone else had enjoyed it too.

Still, even as the crowd grew silent in anticipation of the score announcement, Yuuri silently struggled to even estimate what kind of score he could have gotten.

Suddenly the muted sounds which were actually coming from Celestino grew louder as Yuuri came out of his dissociation and back to reality. With a big slap along his back, Yuuri was shaken and made fully aware of how much cheering and noise his mind had apparently been blocking out.

Even more than that, he had somehow missed the score announcement. But those numbers couldn’t be right — Yuuri had never even scored above a 95, much less in the 100s.

But right there on the jumbotron, plastered across ever screen in the building was his score.

**Yuuri Katsuki (JPN)**

**105.74 (PB)**

**Currently in: 1st Place**

+++++++++

Yuuri legitimately didn’t understand how it had happened. He had never really been in first of _anything_ ever. Sure, sometimes he struggled and fought his way to the top, but that still usually only meant a silver or a bronze. But Yuuri had never been “the one to beat” before — especially not by a margin of almost 8 points between him and Georgi who was sitting comfortably in 2nd.

The Cup of China Short Program competition had been entirely a whirlwind for Yuuri, from sideline interviews to the Top 3 Press Conference — and the whole time, Yuuri had no clue of what to say. Sitting in the middle in between Georgi and Leo on either side was strange, but so was having all of the cameras and questions pointed directly at _him._ Hopefully, if whatever god was watching was merciful, Yuuri didn’t make too big of a fool of himself as he did at the Japanese Press Conference. _That_ had been a nightmare, declaring his “love” to the world? Please.

At least here, most of the questions were limited to “How did you feel on the ice?”, “What will your preparation be for tomorrow?”, “How has your failure from last season changed your approach to this season?” and the like. Which Yuuri always answered in the shortest and most succinct way possible in order to 1) not make a fool of himself, and 2) get out of there as quickly as possible.

After what seemed like an eon had gone by, Yuuri was finally released, and he left to head back to his own hotel and his own bed. A much deserved shower and rest awaited him there, and would hopefully result in a much needed hibernation to recuperate after that arduous day.

Come 2 a.m., Yuuri realized that wish had been pointless.

From the second Yuuri reached his hotel room, he knew he was doomed. His anxiety was latching to anything and everything it could to make Yuuri as miserable as humanly possible. First, it was the fact that half of the outlets in his room weren’t working and his phone wouldn’t charge, which meant that there was a chance that his alarm wouldn’t go off and he would over sleep for practice in the morning.

Second, it was the fact that now that he was in first —  the Cup of China was his to _lose_ . He was _expected_ to win now, especially with those scores. It was just like last year’s Grand Prix Final; Yuuri ended the short program in 2nd by some miracle, and everyone assumed he would make podium. Instead, he ended up over 100 points behind first. Now, if he fell on his jumps or fell down the rankings to miss the podium, Yuuri would be seen as even _more_ of a failure than he already was. Not to mention that if Yuuri failed to place above 4th… his dream of returning to the Grand Prix Final would be shattered.

Then, Yuuri started worrying about his free skate and his jumps. “Yuri on Ice” was a great piece, and Yuuri couldn’t even fathom skating a different free program. But would the judges like it? Would they respond well to it? Would the music match their image of “Yuuri Katsuki”, and would it earn him the PCS scores he needed? How would his costume pick up the light in the huge arena compared to how it looked in regionals? Would the deep navy and the lilac not look good in video or photographs, or would all the stones be distracting and would people call him too effeminate? Would the piping and the ruffle details and the belt make his shoulders and hips look wide, and would people start calling him fat?

All of these questions and worries were swimming through Yuuri’s mind, making it impossible to sleep, and making him dread the prospect of having to compete again tomorrow. His whole body was sore and exhausted, and it took all of his energy to even be able to lift a leg a few inches above the bed. Yuuri was still almost shivering, but he couldn’t tell if that was from exhaustion, anxiety jitters or _what_ . He hadn’t had any coffee or energy drinks at all since he had left for Beijing, so _why_ couldn’t he sleep if he literally _hadn’t_ in the last 3 or so days?

That’s when the anxiety about his most recent Hanahaki attack hit. Literally any other time, besides when he was on the ice, would have been preferable. But entering Stage 3 of his disease literally hours before traveling all the way across the world to compete, was quite possibly the worst timing ever. His whole body was weaker because of it, his mind was spacey and groggy — and not just from lack of sleep. His lungs and throat _burned_ still, making it difficult to breath in as deep as he needed to for skating. It made the _cold_ of the ice hurt and feel even colder, because even his skin felt weak. And who was to say if even with his suppressants, that he wouldn’t just start coughing up flowers in the middle of a performance. If timing was bad enough to have a Hanahaki attack directly _before_ competing, what was going to stop it from happening during the only other feasibly worse possible time?

Then Yuuri felt it: the tell-tale wave of nausea. It wasn’t nearly the worst he had been subject to, but Yuuri knew. And the bitter irony pooling with the bile made everything 10x worse.

Luckily, Yuuri could tell that this was going to be a small, minor attack, and it would only produce a few petals at most — but it still sucked.

Yuuri still didn’t feel like moving from the bed, but he still managed to push himself into a seated position that would hopefully not hurt his back with the coughing spasms. He kind of needed an intact back and lungs in order to skate in the morning. The coughs weren’t nearly as bad as Yuuri had expected, but the wheezing and rasping and slapping together of his vocal chords made each cough sting.

Only a medium-sized, round white petal and a wide, purple petal ended up coming out by the time the fit was over. Once the nausea passed, Yuuri placed the loose petals on the table next to his bed, and grabbed a tissue. Tears always breached during an attack, although this time, they weren’t from the coughing. These tears were anguish, self-pity and sheer exhaustion.

Yuuri had been working _so damn hard_ over the past few months. It _hurt_ every single day he was on the ice and it hurt every single day he had to live with his disease. But what was worse, was knowing that it still might not be enough. He _could_ fail, and all of that work might be for naught. That was the reason for those tears, and Yuuri let them freely fall as he quickly wiped them away with the tissue.

He took in a shuddering breath and tried to regain his composure. While he didn’t feel any better, he just melted back into his bed with a sigh. For now, all he could do was try and sleep — and hope for what the next day would bring.

+++++++++

The next morning, Yuuri looked like a zombie. Even Celestino, who popped by the room to pick up Yuuri in time to head over to the official practice session. But when he took one look at Yuuri, he sent him right back to bed.

“Yuuri, you cannot go onto the ice like that. It would be obvious for anyone within a 50 foot radius that you haven’t slept at all, and the last thing you need is a terrible practice before you compete. You got first yesterday, so go try and get some rest, because you need it.”

All the Japanese boy in question could do was nod dumbly, and fall face first back onto the bed.

That still did little-to-nothing in terms of helping Yuuri be rested before the competition. If he had even been able to take a nap, it probably only consisted of less than 20 minutes of actual sleeping. Even though Yuuri was completely and utterly exhausted from his lack of sleep, and his full-out performance yesterday, he still couldn’t actually _fall asleep._ For the majority of the time, Yuuri just laid there, praying that his mind would finally shut off.

And it never did.

And it still wouldn’t. Even during the taxi ride to the arena, Yuuri’s mind was doing nothing except buzzing like a fluorescent street lamp. Sadly, he knew it would only get worse due to the venti coffee which was warming his hands, but Yuuri needed _something_ to keep him awake long enough to compete —  even if that _something_ would probably cause his anxiety and his nerves even more trouble in the long run.

Finally when Yuuri arrived at the rink, he could already see Celestino’s stern, worried face approaching him. It was nice seeing his coach, because somehow he always managed to exude warmth and an air of ease whenever he was around, which Yuuri definitely needed right now. The firm grasp Ciao Ciao had on his shoulders grounded him, and despite the coursing exhaustion, Yuuri felt like yeah, he _could_ get back on the ice.

“How are you feeling Yuuri?”

Although Yuuri _was_ feeling better, it was only by a minuscule amount, so he instead chose to lie a little to at least appease his coach’s worries. “I’m fine Celestino, don't worry. I feel a lot better after my nap.”

The two walked back into the hustle and bustle of the busy arena, and were immediately met with the tense air that surrounded all of the other skaters. But even though he had Celestino at his side now, Yuuri could tell that his coach was stressed and worried sick about the combined struggles of both of his skaters. Just turning to look at his coach’s face, Yuuri could see the creases in his brow and the forced smile that he was putting on to appease the surrounding media.

Across the room, Yuuri could see Phichit getting ready for the competition too. The Thai skater was dressed in his blue and white costume for his “ _Terra Incognita”_ program, and somehow with the combined contrast of colors and the perfect fit of the stretch material, along with Phichit’s eyeliner and slicked back hair, he probably looked the best that Yuuri had ever seen. However, Phichit also looked the most serious, frustrated and nervous that Yuuri had ever seen.

Normally, his friend was easy going and carefree; always making jokes and trying to liven up the mood and make everyone happy. But today, _that_ Phichit was buried under the narrow focus that the skater had. Phichit wanted to win, and more than anything, he wanted to go to the Grand Prix Final. He wanted to make history for himself _and_ his country.

It was almost unnerving, seeing how the stress was affecting the normally cool and collected skater. Usually before a competition and before warm up, Phichit would still be on his phone playing games and chatting away on social media. Sometimes, he would even be running around trying to get selfies with all of the other competitors or meeting his fans.

Not today though. This Phichit had a look that could kill in his eyes. Earbuds plugged in, no screen or phone in sight; only the perfectly memorized choreography that he was trying to get one last repetition of practice in before taking the ice. More than anything, Phichit looked _hungry_ and desperate.

After seeing Phichit, Yuuri almost felt guilty. Sure, Yuuri “needed” Ciao Ciao, but its not like he hadn’t been in this position before. Well, technically he had never been in this first place “position” before, but the insomnia and the anxiety were nothing new. He was used to it. Phichit, however, wasn’t.

Phichit needed Celestino way more than Yuuri did, _especially_ since Yuuri was set to skate last, compared to Phichit who was skating at the beginning of the final group. With a sigh, Yuuri turned to his coach and put a hand on his shoulder and gave the Italian man a small, sympathetic smile.

“Coach Celestino...? Go help Phichit. I’m fine, and I still have a while before I’m going on the ice. He needs you, just like he needs that first or second place finish.”

The Italian man looked almost shocked, and tried to tell Yuuri that he was being silly. But instead, Yuuri silenced the older man with a firm shake of his head.

“I’m fine, really Ciao Ciao. I can deal with it on my own. I’ll see you at the 5-minute warning.” And with that, Yuuri left to go find some peace and quiet.

While peace and quiet _was_ the goal, Yuuri was just relieved he managed to get out of there before he lost his nerve — and his poker face.

To be truthful, Yuuri was scared shitless. He could feel his whole body shaking and jittering and vibrating beneath his skin and his head was _racing_. By the time he was finally out of sight of any cameras or any other event officials, he started runnings.

He ran down the hallway, not even thinking to look or ask himself where he was going, because it didn’t matter. All Yuuri needed was to be alone, and to not hear any news about the competition that would make his nerves any worse.

As his mind began to blur and the tears began to well, Yuuri realized he was beginning to have a full-blown panic attack. This was the last thing he needed before he was to take the ice. Not only was he exhausted, and having to perform on a Hanahaki-weakened body, but his nerves and mind were just as fragile. His chest started heaving and he struggled to breath under the heavy weight of his own panic, when he finally managed to pull himself seated against a wall in some parking garage.

Yuuri had no idea how far away he was, but all he could assume was that he was in the lot for the arena. He couldn’t have gotten too far, but it still didn’t seem far enough as the faint sounds of music and applause could be heard even from the distance.

Suddenly, the cheers boomed throughout the entire structure, resounding and echoing off each wall and car and trapping Yuuri inside a vortex of his own inadequacies. It was probably the end of someone’s routine, or maybe they landed an amazing jump of some kind — but either way, it was just a reminder of how far Yuuri was going to fall again. Those cheers weren’t for him, and he wouldn’t deserve them even if they were.

The breaths still grew harder and harder, and Yuuri could only think of one thing to do in this situation.

His hands were still trembling and his vision was blurry with tears and the uncomfortable film of the contacts in his eyes, but he reached into his pocket. Yuuri quickly took out his phone, and pulled up his contacts to speed dial and called the one person who could even hope to help him: Dr. Alicia.

Yuuri didn’t even look to check to see what time it would be back in Detroit, and luckily that didn’t even matter because the line connected only after one short ring.

Through his crying and sobbing and desperate pleading for help over the phone, Yuuri could barely even understand himself, let alone remember most of what was said. All he knew is that he was so grateful to just have her comforting voice and advice there as a beaming lighthouse through his mental storm.

Her soothing words and gentle breathing helped pull Yuuri out of his panic attack, and back into the relative reality of the competition ahead of him. Hopefully, with his anxiety and heart rate back under control, his Hanahaki wouldn’t flare up. Sadly though, Yuuri really needed to get back to the arena if he had any chance of even making it onto the ice on time.

With a quick, but heartfelt thanks, Yuuri said goodbye by saying he had to go because the competition was about to start. It wasn’t a lie — but Yuuri probably could have talked longer, and he honestly might have needed it. Today however, he needed to figure it out for _himself_. He hung up the phone and stood back up to face the long journey ahead of him.

The walk back wasn’t that long — but it was _lonely_. For the first time that Yuuri could really recall, he didn’t want to be alone. Even though his panic attack had subsided, the heavy longing in his heart was still hard to push past.

For the first time, Yuuri wanted someone to hold onto. He wanted someone to stay close to him and comfort him; to hold him when he cried, and to hold his hand when they were in the dark and someone who could lead him into the light.

For the first time — Yuuri longed for his soulmate.

Yuuri thought about what it would be like if he found his soulmate… and if his soulmate could have been there, taking care of him. Making sure that he slept, or that he took a nap… or who could bring him out to where no one was there to judge him, and help him through his anxiety. How it could just be the two of them — no worries or cares — even in the middle of a competition. For the first time, Yuuri really understood that “yeah, he _did_ want to find his soulmate”.

A soulmate who he didn’t know — but who he was connected to by cruel fate and a terrible disease. While Yuuri knew that his only options were to find his soulmate or to wither away in a suffocating pile of petals... he had always put that ultimatum far into the future. But now? As Yuuri entered the third stage of his disease, and the full realization of his fate was beginning to hit, so was the pull and the desire to find that perfect other half. Because at least, even if their bond was one formed out of pain, they should be the one person who understands them more than anyone else.

For the first time — Yuuri needed his soulmate. This connection that had been missing for so long, helped Yuuri begin to see a new way to express the love that he had struggled with for so long.

With his heart no longer aching and shivering, Yuuri made his way back to the warm up area. Instead of anxiety and dread, he could feel a warmth radiating from inside which somehow strengthened his will, conviction and spontaneity.

If Yuuri Katsuki wanted to show off his love and the real “Yuri on Ice”, he was going to have to pull out all the stops. Did that mean changing one of his quad toes to be a quad flip? Most definitely, and it’s not like Celestino was going to be able to stop him. Yuuri might not have even landed it in practice, but it was sure to make a statement and get everybody talking. Plus, if he hadn’t even practiced any of his jumps today, a quad flip was probably just as likely to land as his salchow or toe loop.

The anxiety was gone, but instead he had a new motivation to do well. Not just for himself, but for his soulmate. But for now, Yuuri was alone — and so started heading back to the arena. On the way, he held a hand to his chest and thought that, maybe he wasn't _so_ alone after all.

When he finally arrived rink-side, it was time to get down to business. Yuuri could see Celestino breathe a small sigh of relief when he finally saw not only Yuuri, but a Yuuri who looked ready to face the world.

Yuuri could see Chris on the ice in the distance, and knew it was time. He quickly ran up to his coach, and wrapped his arms around the Italian man in a tight hug, grateful for the grounded feeling that embrace gifted him. Then, he quickly shed his black Team Japan jacket to reveal the dark navy and lilac costume that was littered with multi-colored, cool-toned jewels. The piping and elegant beaded appliqués catching every light, and they highlighted Yuuri’s broad shoulders and neck. Perfectly tailored pants caressed every curve of Yuuri’s thighs and waist, and gave an effortless yet cool air to him.

On his cue, Yuuri took the ice, and turned around to get one last look at Celestino, who was all smiles and gave him a simple thumbs up as a send-off.

Surprisingly, Yuuri felt unusually calm, especially after everything that had happened. He couldn’t hear his heart beating in his ears anymore. His legs didn't feel like he was skating after living on a boat for a year. And his mind was crystal clear with only one goal in mind.

For all of the terrible circumstances stacking against him, this feeling was as good as Yuuri was going to get. And that was all Yuuri needed as he hit the opening pose before the gentle piano came on over the loudspeakers.

+++++++++

Somehow, Yuuri found himself standing on the podium next to his best friend with a silver medal around his neck and a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

After all that had happened that weekend, and even more so after a skate like that, it was surreal to be posing for pictures on a podium. Even more so now that the silver medal hanging on his chest meant he still had a chance to make the Grand Prix Final.

Yuuri had managed to take 2nd over Christophe by less than a point, and Phichit had secured 1st with probably the best skate of his career. With all things willing, that gold would be his best friend’s ticket to the Grand Prix Final, and his ticket into the history books. Not only was he the first skater from a Southeast Asian country to medal and win a Grand Prix event, but Phichit could be the first ever Southeast Asian skater to qualify for the final.

Despite everything, Yuuri still managed to land most of his jumps, even if some of them had a negative GOE. His only fall was on the spur of the moment quad flip, but it was fully rotated. Plus, the gasp and subsequent screeching that filled the arena after surprise attempt was more than worth the -1 deduction that he got for that fall. Yuuri was not going to be flippant this year, and that flip proved it. He was going to make a mark and he was going to make a name for himself, even if it killed him.

Or more accurately, even if it resulted in a long lecture from Celestino about changing his jump composition all willy-nilly, especially after not having practiced all day.

Still, with both of his skaters earning the top two awards in their first competition, it was definitely an accomplishment worth celebrating. Celestino sent the boys off with a proud smile, and told them to go relax and have some much deserved fun after all the hard work and stress the two of them had put in. If they needed him, he was going to be at the hotel bar catching up with Minako who had come to watch the competition.

Phichit quickly dragged Yuuri back to their hotel room so they could both change out of their competition gear, and get ready for the night. The gala and closing banquet weren’t until the next day after the Ice Dance competition had wrapped up, so the boys had more than enough time to rest and celebrate.

That night, Chris, Phichit and Yuuri all headed to a small club, just off the main drag and away from all the tourists, which Guang Hong has recommended to the Thai boy. Although the rest of the competitors had decided to sit out the celebratory festivities, the three were more than happy to just spend time with the three of them.

As medalists, all 3 of them were invited to perform in the exhibition gala the next night. However all 3 were very popular skaters, and probably would have been chosen to perform anyway. Chris was always a crowd pleaser with his usually explosive, sexual and upbeat exhibitions that luckily didn’t usually end in _exhibition_ . Although, usually a few pairs of panties, boxers and bras _did_ end up on the ice afterwards.

Phichit, being the poppy, memey trash he was, he _of course_ wanted to do a Kpop medley. Aside from The King and the Skater and hamsters... Phichit had always been obsessed with the bubblegum pop sound, the bright colors and the coordinated dancing of his favorite Kpop girl groups. Just thinking about Phichit’s exhibition of all of his favorite throwback girl-group jams, gave Yuuri ptsd from the Thai boy’s _Kpop phase._

He was so proud of the exhibition piece too, because Phichit thought he was being ‘so clever’ with his cool guy hip-hop routine to start off with to songs like “Nu Abo” by f(x) and “I am the Best” by 2NE1. But then it would ‘tear away’ into the sweetest, most saccharine songs like “Gee” by SNSD and “Bar Bar Bar” by Crayon Pop, as Phichit literally tore away his baggy sweat pants to reveal the brightest booty shorts that he could have possibly found, paired with a tiny little white crop top and suspenders. The routine would end with a more scandalous number to “Expectation” by Girl’s Day, and Yuuri had seen enough of the routine in their living room and at the rink, to know it was going to be A Lot™️.

Speaking of A Lot™️, apparently during the off-season, Christophe had gone to see Lady Gaga in concert when she went on a European tour. After which, he felt so _inspired_ that he just “ _needed_ ” to skate to the song “Applause”. Of course, that wouldn’t be nearly the worst thing that Chris had ever skated as an EX, but then again, he always loved to push the boundaries of the relaxed costume checks that usually happened for the exhibition gala.

The older man in question, suddenly spoke up with his drink in hand and his face freshly flushed. “It's alright if we show up hungover or still a little tipsy for gala rehearsal, right?”

Both Phichit and Yuuri laughed wholeheartedly before Yuuri came in to act as a voice or reason. “I don’t think it's the wisest decision to wear or operate heavy machinery such as knife shoes while drunk… even if it _is_ the gala”

Either way, the celebration between the three medalists was genuinely _fun_ , and Yuuri actually let himself loosen a _littl_ e. But not too much — because Yuuri _knew_ he had to be careful with his liquor.

He couldn't even _remember_ the last time he had “too much to drink”. But then again, that was because he probably blacked out and literally _couldn't_ remember the last time that had happened. Still, a few drinks were much deserved and wouldn’t hurt too much as long as he paced himself.

Still, even though they all had a long day ahead of them tomorrow, the gala would still be a fun chance to skate with everybody, and let the audience see everyone in their true “element” without the stress of competition. The gala was always a great showcase for skaters to show their personality, or something that was special to them.

For Yuuri, he had been planning his EX for quite a bit now. It hadn’t been for as long as he had been diagnosed with Hanahaki, but even longer. Yuuri had wanted to skate to “Stairway to Heaven” for probably years now. There had just never been the right time or occasion — but then again, what better time to skate to “Stairway to Heaven” than when you are literally dying.

Even though the whole song was beautiful and emotional and Yuuri would love to skate to the full 8 minute song, that would be more appropriate for a self-indulgent ice show performance. Not the gala exhibition. So Yuuri had the music cut to basically only include the last 3 and a half minutes of the song, where the music got to the heart and soul of the classic rock roots. If this was going to be Yuuri’s last EX, it had to be poignant and meaningful — but Yuuri still wanted to have fun. Plus it would be nice to perform for once in just a white v-neck, some ripped black jeans and studded black gloves.

Beijing had treated Yuuri well, and it almost made him forget the constant weight on his shoulders and the roots that were strangling his lungs. But no matter how fun drinking with his friends was, no matter how satisfying the solid feeling of the medal around his neck was, no matter how exciting it was to forget about competition and just skate for fun in the exhibition… that didn’t change the fact that the second that the Gala was over, Yuuri would be heading back to Detroit. Then, he would be on the road to his own personal hell.

He would be flying over the river Styx, and Moscow would become the epitome of the 7th circle of hell. The Rostelecom Cup was where Yuuri would have to atone for his crimes against himself, and not only face retribution — but his idol and rival.

As Yuuri took another long swig of his drink, he felt like he was going to puke — and he didn’t want to know if it was from the alcohol or his Hanahaki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay SO — I have tried to refrain from unnecessary author's notes at the end of this fic, but this chapter needs some because I am an anxious/wordy hoe who has too many emotions.
> 
>  **First:** I am excited to announce that I have created a soundtrack for ASBR! [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pvsQ1Mvnue4&list=PLFDP5lh0-JEft8dFu0ajAIFy_wEe7tIla) is the link to the playlist on youtube, and I hope you enjoy it! The songs all fit the mood of either the fic itself, or the tone I would have playing in the background if this were a movie, so hopefully it adds to the experience if you choose to listen!
> 
>  **Second:** Here are the links to the songs that Phichit used for his exhibition: [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E8ZrPFMr_nY), [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7_lSP8Vc3o), [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U7mPqycQ0tQ), [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yMqL1iWfku4) and [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqR2HGkjFCA). I apologize for this self indulgent Kpop throwback idea, but I had too many emotions while finishing this chapter at like 4 a.m., so I needed some fluff and silliness. Feel free to also look at those videos for costume inspiration of what I envisioned Phichit to wear, as well as gay-panic.
> 
>  **Third:** If you would like to check out the detailed costume designs for Yuuri's Short Program, as well as my redesigned Free Skate costume, you can check them out [HERE](https://shslartie.tumblr.com/post/180058905347/here-are-the-sneak-peaks-for-the-artcostume). Both designs here are in black and white, because you will have to wait for another chapter for the full color version. (and because the details are more easily distinguishable uncolored). Also, if you could not view the imbedded art for Yuuri's Short Program, here is a [LINK](https://shslartie.tumblr.com/post/180108718347/here-is-my-fully-colored-art-for-chapter-4-of-a).
> 
>  **Fourth:** Again just for the record, if there is anything that has been changed from canon in this fic (no matter how small a detail, or how large a plot point), I can with 99% certainty tell you that I wrote it that way for a reason. I won't bore you with all of the details, BUT if you do have a question about an inconsistency or something, just let me know and I can explain it to you. (or promise that an explanation will be coming in subsequent chapters). 
> 
> **FINALLY:** I want to give an absolutely HUGE shoutout to my buddies and pals who I wouldn't be able to do this fic without, and who are motivating me to get my ass moving for NaNoWriMo.  
>  Go check out my babe [Dakato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dakato/pseuds/dakato), who also has an amazing Hanahaki AU, and is so crucial to my motivation to write usually. Plus drunk writing sprints.  
> Check out [Sawa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/So_Ginelle/pseuds/So_Ginelle), who has some REALLY great Haikyuu works and a LOT of angst if that is your thing. Thank you to the angst and emotions queen for helping me with this, as well as more drunk writing sprints, and for your even wordier-hoe comments <3  
> AND GO CHECK OUT [18+!!! on ICE](https://discord.gg/jRXfSXc), which is an amazing Discord server for adult YOI fans, and all of the people in it are so talented, supportive and amazing. It is a great community, and I am so glad I found them. Come cry about Yuri on Ice and NaNoWriMo with us!


	5. “Keep the People You Love Close to You”

# Chapter 5

### Delphinium — “Keep the People You Love Close to You”

Any time that Yuuri had to travel to Russia, he always dreaded it. Whether traveling from Detroit or Japan, it never seemed to get easier in terms of jet lag or travel time. Almost always having to fly on Aeroflot made it an even more miserable experience.

He waited in the international terminal in the John F. Kennedy International Airport while trying to pass the time during the layover, which _originally_ was only supposed to be around an hour and a half. Now, almost four and a half hours later, Yuuri could testify that Delta Airlines had made his life a fucking nightmare.

While Delta’s planes were usually fine in terms of cleanliness and space, Yuuri had never been on a flight of theirs that had _ever_ been on time. They had stayed on the tarmac in Detroit for almost an entire hour before they could even _start_ to taxi, and it had in turn made him and Celestino miss their original connecting flight.

Sure, Yuuri hadn’t _wanted_ to fly this route because of the terrible airlines, but it was _supposed_ to be the short flight path. Twelve and a half hours of travel time was much more appealing than the rest of the 18 to 40 hour flight options… but as he waited for his boarding group, a whole 6 hours later, it _definitely_ had not been worth it. Especially as he was about to board a sardine can with wings that basically functioned as a cargo ship for people.

Once they finally departed, Yuuri felt the dread sink in as they traveled mile by mile, hour by hour closer to Moscow. All he wanted was for the competition to be over so he could avoid the stress of competition, the pressure of _that_ Russian audience, and the conflict that was waiting for him.

Almost a year ago to the day, Yuri Plisetsky confronted him in the bathroom in Sochi on what had possibly been the worst day in his life up until that point, and straight up told him that he needed to retire because there couldn’t be “two Yuris competing in the same division”. Now, not only did Yuuri have to put out a good performance and score this weekend in order to qualify for the Grand Prix Final, but he also had to prove Yuri wrong.

While Yuuri knew that the little Yuri was vastly underestimating his abilities and determination, it was still stressful to think about. Yuuri had dealt with promising youngsters throughout his whole career. He was even defeated by a few as young as 15, like Minami Kenjirou, at Nationals the previous year. But this time, Yuuri wasn’t scared. A little terrified of the little Yuri’s attitude and personality? Maybe. But Yuuri Katsuki was not afraid of _competing_ against Yuri Plisetsky.

The bigger issue weighing on Yuuri’s mind was someone else however. He sighed as he thought about the last person he had wanted to see while in this condition: Victor Nikiforov.

Yuuri had always loved figure skating and being on the ice, ever since the moment he first put on skates. But it wasn’t until he was 11, when Yuuri saw Victor Nikiforov for the first time as he won the Junior World Championship at age 15. _That_ was the moment that figure skating changed for him forever — because Yuuri thought that he _too_ could be that good someday.

It wasn’t until Yuuri was graduating high school at age 18, when he watched Victor win his first World Championship and “Sweep” at age 23 that Yuuri actually thought he could actually make a _career_ out of figure skating. Up until that point, Yuuri had just considered skating to be a hobby. A hobby where most people retired before they turned 22.

But for his childhood idol to win his first of **5** consecutive World titles at age 23? _That_ was what pushed Yuuri towards taking that leap, and moving halfway across the country to go to college and train. If it hadn’t been for Victor… Yuuri probably would have ended his career early, as a dime a dozen skater who retired from competing when he got too old, and just quietly retired into the shadows.

Instead, because of Victor… Yuuri’s drive and passion for the sport continued to grow and push him farther. He wanted not only to skate for himself and for fun, but to one day prove himself to Victor and earn a chance to skate on the same ice. Sure, Yuuri always wanted to do the best he could for Japan, for Celestino, or maybe for his own self… but Victor was his true motivation and his true goal.

The problem lied with when Yuuri finally _did_ earn a spot on the same ice as Victor.

Once Yuuri finally started getting sent to Grand Prix events by the JSF, and when he finally made the national team and earned his ticket to Worlds for the first time… Yuuri felt so inferior.

Even if he had made it onto the same ice, Yuuri wasn’t even in the same stratosphere as Victor. The Russian had his own orbit that made everyone gravitate towards him, just because he was Victor. It was intoxicating. The ice was completely his own, and it felt like no one could ever even dream to catch up to him. It was intimidating, and Victor was on such a high pedestal that it felt impossible for Yuuri to climb.

No matter how many times over the last 5 years Yuuri managed to catch up to Victor… it had always been impossible to talk to him. Yuuri had idolized him for so long, and taken such great inspiration from him, that he didn’t feel worthy to even breath the same air, much less hold a conversation with him. Not at a Grand Prix event where Yuuri had failed to make the podium, not at an exhibition or gala where Yuuri was _for some reason_ asked to perform, not at World Team Trophy, not at Worlds and _definitely_ not at the Olympics. Not after a meagre 5th place finish. Not after failing in front of him multiple times, over and over again.

And definitely not at last year’s Grand Prix Final. Sure, if Yuuri had actually managed to stand on the podium next to Victor… that would have been one thing. But that didn't happen.

Instead, Yuuri only proved his wildest fears and assumptions right. He didn’t deserve to even compete with Victor, so what was the point? The last time Yuuri had seen him, Victor hadn’t even _recognized_ him. He had just assumed he was some creepy stalker-fan who wanted a photo — as if Yuuri would want to memorialize his shame. All Yuuri could do in that moment was walk away in order to save any last shred of dignity he had, and more importantly, to stop himself from breaking down crying again.

Maybe Victor _had_ recognized him, and he just had a sick sense of humor in pushing Yuuri’s feelings even farther into the dirt. Yuuri wouldn’t blame him; after a performance like that, he deserved any and all ridicule that came his way.

After a few moments, Yuuri laughed sardonically and shook his head. This wasn’t what he needed to be thinking about or focusing on right now; the Rostelecom Cup was his last and only chance to secure a trip to the Grand Prix Final, whether Victor was there or not. And Yuuri couldn’t afford any distractions.

When Yuuri and Celestino finally began their descent into Moscow, it was a relief to both of them that they could finally get off the flying torture chamber. They landed at the Sheremetyevo International Airport at around 8 p.m. local time, and Yuuri turned on his phone to see a message from the JSF representative who had gone to the Short Program Draw in his stead. He would be skating 3rd to last in the second group — just before Yuri Plisetsky and Victor Nikiforov.

They had missed the draw, and most of the official practice time due to the flight delay, but it was the best outcome Yuuri could have asked for. Luck had never _usually_ been on his side, and hopefully _this_ would be the worst thing. Yuuri didn’t hold his breath, since Murphy’s Law was likely to be alive and well, but at least he didn’t draw first.

Instead of heading straight to the arena from the airport, Celestino decided it would be best for Yuuri to not overwork his tired and weak system, and instead head to the hotel. If competing wasn’t already enough stress, the jet lag and Aeroflot would probably kill him first.

Well actually, as bad as the jet lag and whiplash from all the turbulence was, he _was_ well into Hanahaki Stage III.

Unlike before, Yuuri couldn’t just pass off his symptoms as your every-day soreness and exhaustion. His body had become much more frail and he had lost a considerable amount of weight. If Yuuri hadn’t still had a little extra fluff from the off-season, he couldn’t imagine how much worse off he would be.

Looking in the mirror was like seeing a ghost. Luckily, if he hadn’t pulled an anxiety-filled all-nighter, or didn’t wake up due to a Hanahaki attack, he usually looked fine. His cheeks and eyes might have sunken in a bit, but all in all, Yuuri’s body wasn’t fighting him as much as he expected.

The Hanahaki attacks had increased as well. With 3 different types of flowers now being produced, a small pang of nausea was an almost constant feeling for Yuuri. But with his medication, it was manageable. All he needed to do was get through this weekend so he could take a 2-week detox in order to prevent any suppressant-related Hanahaki retaliation. Yuuri just had to make it the three weeks until the Grand Prix Final was over, and he would be in the clear.

Maybe not in the _clear_ , but he would finally have accomplished everything he wanted to before he had to go search for his soulmate. Three more weeks, until his fate would really become real.

Finally, when Yuuri and Celestino checked into their respective hotel rooms, Yuuri could feel the pull of sleep calling him. Getting a full night’s rest, and being in his best possible state (given the circumstances) was probably the only thing he could do to prepare for tomorrow anyway. So Yuuri drifted off to sleep as fields of flowers blooming in the snow, the sounds of Queen dancing on the wind and flashes of silver plagued his dreams.

+++++++++

The next morning, Yuuri went to the rink for the official practice and did his best to keep his head in the sand like an ostrich in order to not attract any more attention to himself than he needed to. Of course, Yuuri couldn’t really do anything to avoid the random run-ins with Seung Gil or the Crispino twins in the elevator of the official hotel. But all Yuuri wanted was for this weekend to be conflict free — and over as quickly as possible.

Yuuri felt groggy and jet lagged, and he was really not in the mood or skate or be around people, so  it was difficult to go full out during open practice the morning of the competition. Plus, with his worsening health condition, it wouldn’t have been a good idea to go full out anyway. Despite being a “good idea”, it was still frustrating to not be able to really _practice_ before his program. However, trying to focus on the things he needed to get done that he couldn’t in practice, helped Yuuri forget the pressure and stress.

Ever since he got back from China, Yuuri’s Hanahaki hadn’t been that bad — but he did need to take a stronger dose of suppressants now, and far more often to keep up with the onslaught of his disease. Dr. Khanna had been hesitant to prescribe the medication, but they both agreed that it was the only way he was going to be able to make it through his competitions without complications. As long as he wasn’t abusing them, and he took off proper detox periods over the weekends and in between competitions, he should be fine for now. Even for Stage 3. However, Yuuri could _feel_ his energy levels get increasingly weaker as well as the decreased the amount of power he could put into his jumps.

Practice back in Detroit had become increasingly more arduous, and he could only really afford to do one full run through of each program a day. Because otherwise… he either wouldn’t be able to perform or land all of his jumps… or just an attempt to make it through a whole program would make him dizzy, light headed and give him painful chest pains. The worst his attacks had been were usually limited to just a few small petals, and almost never full flowers. Although less intense in symptoms, they had become a lot more common now than they had previously been.

This weekend sadly, had not only become a fight for his Grand Prix Final spot, but a fight to not draw attention to himself and a fight to not overexert himself so he wouldn’t throw himself into a Hanahaki fit.

While warming up for the Short Program and getting ready, Yuuri was focused and determined not to waste what little he could do. Everything was very precise, and nothing was out of order. Even though he couldn’t practice his quads, or drill most of his other jumps more than once, Yuuri still felt comfortable and like he was gliding. All the gears and cogs were moving in sync.

Somehow as Yuuri found himself with a clear mind, he could barely even believe how quick the competition had gone by. Before long, Yuuri found himself skating out to center ice with no thoughts or cares other than the music that had begun playing over the loudspeakers.

Everything felt comfortable and natural. His crossovers were effortless and gave him insane speed; his knees felt no strain as he shifted from edge to edge, and pushed each lunge and bend deeper. The quad salchow felt as light as a triple, but solid enough that Yuuri knew there was no question of underrotation. His ina bauer into the triple axel felt like nothing — and if not for the roaring applause that could only come from an astonishing element, Yuuri would have had no recollection of even taking off.

Even more so than in China, Yuuri felt comfortable. In the blink of an eye he found himself in the Kiss and Cry next to Celestino, awaiting his scores. The ice had been littered with small stuffed animals and chibi-style plush food. More than anything, Yuuri was in shock at how many fans had thrown goodies onto the ice.

No matter how good and clean that skate had felt, Yuuri didn’t feel worthy of all the attention, _especially_ in the field he was in. Not only was he no where near the last skater to perform in the short, but he could not see his own “popularity” as a skater to be anywhere near the level of even the skaters who went before him. Despite their cold and sometimes harsh demeanor, Yuuri knew that Seung Gil and Michele were sought after by many because of their masculine handsomeness and well-tailored costumes. Even Emil often had storms of teddy bears and lions rain down on his performances a good deal of the time, because of his sunny and fluffy demeanor. Heck, Yuuri knew his charm (if he could even call it that) was light years away from even the young Yuri Plisetsky, who had a rabid fan base of fangirls that almost accosted Yuuri in the airport while waiting for the young blonde. And Yuuri didn’t even want to imagine how inadequate he was compared to the likes of his own idol…

Still, Yuuri felt a small smile come to his face as he hugged the giant tempura plush that he had picked up on his way off of the ice. When the scores came up on the screen, Yuuri couldn’t believe what he saw — somehow he had not only earned another Personal Best, he had broken 109. That number was entirely baffling to Yuuri, and just the thought of what Yuuri Katsuki of last season would have done if he had seen a score like this. Pass out, possibly. Or ask for a recount, because obviously the judges had watched someone else.

But the Yuuri Katsuki of this season, the Yuuri Katsuki with a silver medal, and the Yuuri who was living in Stage III of Hanahaki Disease…. This Yuuri felt satisfied. For maybe the first time in his skating career (at least, in recent memory) that he could genuinely feel happy of what he put out on the ice. For once, his heart was beating fast not because of nerves, but because he was happy.

He could barely fight the bashful blush that he could feel warming his face or the small yet genuine smile that would have been impossible to contain, even as his hands went to cover his cheeks. Yuuri could feel the large, firm hand of Celestino ruffle his slicked hair, and that was how Yuuri could tell that Celestino was equally as proud, if not more so. No lecture in the Kiss and Cry, no “oh well”s or “you’ll make it up in the Free”s. Just an excited coach and an excited skater.

Unlike in China, Yuuri didn’t even feel the pressure of being in first by a large margin, which had proved to be his downfall in his last Free Skate. Maybe there was something to be said about the ability to perform when he wasn’t feeling the self-imposed stress and expectations, and when all he had to focus on was not psyching himself out. Sure, a competition where he could be buddy-buddy with all of the other competitors was a blast, and a much needed relief from the intense practicing… but Yuuri would take this anxiety-less feeling over that any day.

With a few last proud remarks from Celestino, the pair went their separate ways as Yuuri wanted to watch the last two performances, especially since seeing both Yuri and Victor live performing on home ice, would really be spectacular, no matter the scoring outcome.

As the blonde took the ice, Yuuri was stunned to silence at how much had changed in less than a year. Despite only being 15, he had grown into a beautiful and mature skater who had a commanding presence not even usually found in skaters who had been skating for twice as long. The program, “Agape” was really beautiful — and a huge departure of what Yuuri would have expected given the teen’s thorny disposition, and compared to what he had performed on the Junior level. Even if Yuuri hadn’t _known_ that this Short Program was choreographed by Victor, it was painfully obvious once Yuri got to the step sequence. Despite it being a very sound program, and a gorgeous piece, it was obvious even from the distance between Yuuri and the ice, that something was troubling the younger boy.

Perhaps it was the nerves and the pressure of making the Grand Prix Final on his Senior debut, or perhaps it was the dizzying weight of the expectations that came when performing on “home ice”, or perhaps it was something else entirely. Either way, Yuuri couldn’t tell. But what Yuuri _could_ see, was that once Yuri found what his “Agape” truly was, he would truly become a force to be reckoned with.

The scores came up at just under 100, leaving Yuuri still solidly in the lead. Soon as the excited and happy cheers for Yuri began to die out, they were soon _drowned_ under some of the loudest applause that Yuuri had ever heard in his 24 years of life. That lead was about to change.

When Yuuri turned his attention back towards the ice, he felt all air leave his body and his jaw unhinge. Yuuri had seen Victor in person more than a few times, even more from this distance, and almost every day of his life with posters of him hanging on every wall… But no memory or picture could ever prepare him for the absolute chill that went through his body each time Yuuri laid eyes on Victor Nikiforov. Especially when what he was wearing, could barely be called fully clothed by any estimation. While Yuuri was absolutely in love with Victor as a skater, sometimes when he looked like _that_ , it was impossible for other ideas not to pop into his head. But Yuuri forced his heart rate to calm as the spicy tango-style music began filling the arena.

[(Link)](https://i.imgur.com/r41ZMGm.jpg)

Watching Victor on the ice was like seeing a classical painter at work because it was pure _art._ Even if Yuuri had broken his previous personal best and gotten a HUGE score, there was no comparison between what he did and what Victor was doing on the ice right now. He didn't even need to see the technical scores or wait for the PCS to come out after his program to know that Victor might even break his own record. Maybe even with a ridiculous and seemingly impossible score of something like 120 — because it was just that good. Yuuri was honestly so enthralled, he forgot how to breath for a few moments. This subsequently threw him into a small coughing fit once he regained his composure. The program left Yuuri both metaphorically and literally _breathless_.

His jumps were absolutely perfect, with insanely difficult entries that he made look effortless. No doubt, bound to get +3 GOE on all of them. His steps exuded pure sex and "Eros" on ice, and Yuuri honestly felt that if he stared too long or too closely at the thin fishnetting of his costume that he would somehow get pregnant. Yuuri had always thought that Victor was incredibly sexy, but he would have never imagined that he would ever perform such a sultry and spice-filled program; yet somehow, he fit the character perfectly with his mature eros.

In the back of his head, Yuuri vaguely imagined what it would be like to perform that program himself. Of course, he had almost zero experience with anything even remotely relating to the "eros" form of love, but the way that the music flowed and Victor curved and moved his body made Yuuri itch to perform it in his own way. While Victor looked absolutely stunning, and like sex on ice, Yuuri would have definitely chosen a more demure and covered up costume that rather than highlight his body, he would instead focus on trying to seduce the audience with his body instead.

At the intrusive thought of himself wearing little to no clothing, and bursting onto the ice to seduce Victor with his own form of eros.... Yuuri quickly shook his head and felt his whole face turn into a tomato. He was honestly glad that he had already pulled on his jacket and zipped it all the way up, because otherwise in his pure white, sheer and deep v-cut costume, his embarrassing thoughts would have probably been visible to everyone around him.

But in the midst of his struggle to control his heart rate and raging blush, Yuuri sighed and thought back to what Victor was performing on the ice. Even at his absolute best, Yuuri couldn't even hope to come in at a close second to him. He was just so far out of Yuuri's reach, and no matter what the score was, Yuuri knew he wouldn't feel deserving of that second place spot.

Just as Victor began skating off the ice, Yuuri felt an incessant buzzing in his jacket pocket. He pulled out his phone and saw the contact "Phichit Chulanot" along with a cute contact picture of his best friend.

That was very strange. Why was Phichit calling him? Surely it wasn't to congratulate him on a "great skate" or whatever, because he should be just getting to the rink or somewhere around there. With the 11 hour time difference between there and Moscow, it was hard to tell. But even besides that, Phichit _never_ called during a competition. He knew Yuuri's nerves, and although he had always been available if _Yuuri_ ever needed to call during a competition... Phichit always made a point to not bother him to chance taking him out of his element. This had to be something really important... So he slid the green accept button and brought the phone to his ear.

"Oh Yuuri, thank god you picked up..." Came the normally soft and jovial voice of his friend, but over the receiver it had a slightly more frantic tone. "I'm so sorry to call you during a competition... but Celestino won't pick up his phone... I tried calling him like 8 times and left him a few dozen texts..."

"Woah, something must be wrong with his sim card or something... but I can go get him for you, the Short Program just ended so it won't be too much of a hassle, don't worry..." Yuuri got up to move back towards where he assumed Celestino would be with the other coaches, but the worry that was slowly building in the back of his mind made him stop. "Phichit, is everything alright...? What's going on that's such a big deal...?"

The line went silent for a few seconds, which was way too long of a pause for the boy who normally talked a hundred words a minute, and usually gossiped faster than he could even think. Then Yuuri heard probably the heaviest sigh that had ever come from Phichit's mouth.

"... It's Natalia... she..."  Yuuri felt his heart clench and panic begin to set in as flashbacks to the last time he had received a call about Natalia set in. He knew Phichit probably didn't want to tell Yuuri about whatever was going on, and that was why he was struggling so hard to get the words out when talking had never really been a problem for him.

Just thinking about the night he spent in the hospital with some of their other rinkmates after Natalia’s accident gave him feelings of post-traumatic stress. Back then, Yuuri had been such a mess because of the waiting and not knowing, that he literally pushed the people away that were trying to comfort him — and he could feel his mind spiraling back down into that state. He was just praying that whatever it was that happened was at least better than last time.

"... She..." Phichit's voice came back on over the phone and brought Yuuri back out of his thoughts. But his voice was vulnerable and trembling, and made his heart pang. "She had a Hanahaki attack...."

Yuuri couldn't control the terrified gasp that came out in reaction and reflexively put a hand over his mouth. He almost dropped the phone in shock, and he could feel it slipping as his hand began to tremble and his eyes began to water. Despite the fact that he knew that he had his contacts in, he could barely see through his flooding eyes.

Somehow, his worst fears hadn't even been as bad as what horrible reality he was now living in. The only possible situation that Yuuri could think of which was worse than emergency surgery after a car accident, was being subjected to the same pain and suffering that he had to live every day.

He could vividly remember the kind of pain and terror that he went through when he had his first Hanahaki attack. Yuuri had felt so _alone._ At least he had been home; if he had needed his family and his loved ones there to help if he had needed it. But Natalia was all alone in Detroit.

She lived by herself, just like Yuuri and Phichit, and she was a few thousand miles away from her home in Australia. Natalia had no family outside of their rink anywhere on that _continent —_ and no one there to help.

No wonder Phichit had sounded so panicked. Celestino was probably the only person in the entire world that Natalia would have felt comfortable with in this dark time. She had been training under Celestino for almost her entire skating career, which was far longer than either he or Phichit had known him.

Celestino was the one who took care of her after her car accident, and the normally exuberant  Italian man had been so shaken and distressed for the entirety of her recovery, at the thought of losing one of his students. Now, not only would Celestino have to deal the reality and grief of seeing one student dying of Hanahaki, but two.

Natalia _needed_ Celestino — and Celestino needed to go back to Detroit.

Yuuri wasn't even paying attention to the phone anymore, because he had practically gone deaf from the sound of his own panic. His body started moving on it's own as he began _sprinting_ down the hallway. When he finally saw the large Italian man, Yuuri took a deep breath and hoped to God that he would understand his panic and listen to him.

"Celestino! You need to go back to Detroit, **now.** It's Natalia." Yuuri said with an uncharacteristic conviction and a strong force behind his hands as he grasped his coach's shoulders. Celestino's face went through a flurry of emotions ranging from confusion to exasperation to horror to worry. He then quickly fumbled for the phone in his pocket, which when he turned it on, he was probably greeted by the onslaught of notifications from Phichit.

The coach then looked up at Yuuri with a guilty and conflicted look in his eyes. Before Celestino could even say anything, Yuuri just held up a hand and shook his head.

"Go. She needs you way more than I do right now. I'll be fine."

Yuuri's chest hurt so much to say that, and even if the anxiety and nerves were going to throw him into a Hanahaki fit, he knew it was true. No matter how much it hurt to be alone, and no matter how terrifying the dread that was pumping through his veins was... he knew that Natalia needed to have Ciao Ciao there.

After her last accident, Yuuri was not going to just stand there helpless and push people away again. Even if it hurt, even if he was alone, Yuuri was going to keep fighting and compete with no regrets.

While Yuuri felt guilty about the slight relief he felt, he didn't know if he would have been able to take sitting on the panel at the Top 3 Press Conference, so he felt a minuscule sense of gratitude for the emergency that had allowed him to be absent.

But... by the time he woke up, Yuuri knew that relief would be all but crushed by his surmounting anxiety and doubt now that he had to take on Russia all alone...

The next morning came way too fast, and Yuuri felt all sorts of off. He was numb and groggy and he was dreading not only the trip to the arena, but just the thought of stepping foot on the ice. He knew that dread would probably lessen once he started skating, but until then it felt almost impossible to get out of bed and get ready for the long day ahead of him. But if Yuuri wasn't going to make himself get out there, no one would. It was him against his own indecision and against the entire skating world. And he had something to prove.

Somehow, the not knowing was worse than the loneliness that was creeping up his spine and glaring at him from atop his shoulders. The trip back to Detroit was a long one — and Celestino had been lucky to get on a plane that night. But Yuuri had no real way of knowing how long it would be until he finally got back to the states and could update him on Natalia. Phichit was little to no help in the matter either, because he _knew_ how Yuuri's emotions would run wild. He _knew_ how the news of Vicchan had affected him at the Grand Prix Final last year, which was why he had sounded so distraught when he had finally broke down and called him last night.

Even though Yuuri knew that Phichit was only trying to do what was best for him, and his attempt to keep Yuuri in the best possible mental state was well-meaning... It still created a niggling worry in the back of Yuuri's head the whole day. While he was sure that Phichit would update him if anything drastic had happened, he couldn't really be _sure._ It quickly threw him into an empathetic nightmare — and he felt pathetic.

When he got to the rink, all seemed normal enough for the pre-competition warm ups. Just like yesterday, Yuuri knew he couldn't go nearly as hard as he wanted to in practice, and it made him feel even more off-kilter. He had always had the stamina to do full run-throughs before his Hanahaki, but now Yuuri couldn't afford even the slightest aggravation to his condition or mental state. So marking his steps and taking only the most dire jumps was what he relegated himself to. He was sure that is what Celestino would have told him to do if he had been there.

Oddly enough, skating around with his Bluetooth earbuds and only paying attention to himself and the ice was calming in a sense. Yuuri knew that the ice always kind of engulfed him in a homey feeling, but he was surprised at how calm he actually felt, and how slowly his heart was actually beating. Maybe it was because he was an introvert, or maybe it was just because he had been used to being alone in his training, that it was easier to just block everyone around him out than to focus on a coach for guidance.

Still, as Yuuri headed off of the ice, and towards the locker rooms to change into his Free Skate costume, the ever-present worry reared its ugly head. He hadn't taken his suppressants since yesterday, but if he took them now, Yuuri had no way of knowing if they would stay effective through his time on the ice. Yuuri would have to take them right before he took the ice, if he wanted to be sure. But he couldn't afford an attack, no matter how minor _now_ either.

Yuuri was going to be skating 2nd to last in the Free Skate, and he had a long time to wait and pray that his body wouldn't fail him and undo all of the progress and assurance he had felt after the warm-up.

He stayed in the locker room for what felt like ages, trying to steady his breath and clear his mind by focusing on the lyrics of the songs flooding his eardrums. When he finally saw the alarm go off on his phone, Yuuri did a once over in the mirror.

His hair was perfectly gelled back, and it framed his face well especially in the absence of his glasses. The bright navy color of the thick Lycra top contrasted nicely with his skin, as well as the multi-colored rhinestones, embroidery and appliques that littered the costume. Yuuri's sleeves were laid perfectly, and they appeared as if they wouldn't even dare to bunch or pinch uncomfortably. The material was breathable, and Yuuri felt entirely unconstrained, even with the structured neck and shoulder pieces. A belt connected his shirt to the thicker and tighter-hugging pants which caressed Yuuri's body in a way he had never really associated with himself.

Curves and thick thighs were highlighted with the subtle pleats and the opaque lilac mesh that decorated his hips.The small details and sparkle connected the whole look, and Yuuri honestly couldn't imagine skating in anything else. He continued the once over with a few stretches and hops in place to test the fit and comfort of his skates — which felt almost as if he wasn't wearing them at all. But that probably had to do with the fact he had probably spent more of his life _in_ skates than without them.

He quickly pulled on his team Japan jacket and reinserted his earbuds so he could try and face the crowd and hecticness of the competition again, while remaining as unaffected as possible.

Which was all too quickly ruined as Yuuri left the locker room and turned the corner to enter the hallway, only to come face to face with an uncharacteristically uncomposed and sobbing Seung Gil. Yuuri's eyes went wide at the sight, and he uncontrollably gulped as he could feel his heart rate quickly rising in panic.

Seung Gil had always been so calm, collected, unaffected and sometimes downright cold at competitions. Yuuri had only ever seen such emotions coming off the ice from skaters who had injured themselves mid-competition, junior and novice skaters, and himself. But from Seung Gil? The panic and worry that sent his mind scrambling shook Yuuri to the core and he could even feel his muscles tensing up.

At age 20, Seung Gil was already the best (and one of the only) male skaters for his country. Not only was that a huge pressure, but he also had the looming pressure of the Pyeongchang Olympics ahead of him, where he would no doubt be expected to succeed. Of course the young man was entitled to his emotions and frustration, but it still sent Yuuri into a spiral.

Had Seung Gil injured himself? Was something wrong with the ice? Yuuri prayed not, because he knew what a serious injury could do for the longevity for his career, especially if the boy was looking towards the next Olympic Quadrennial, and not just this season like Yuuri himself was. But if not, had even Seung Gil succumbed to the suffocating pressure of figure skating in Russia? If he had, what hope did Yuuri, the glass-hearted skater have to perform better than him?

As Yuuri's heart rate continued to beat faster than the tempo of the music blaring in his ears, he struggled to will himself down the hallway and into the skaters lounge where he needed to be in order to hear any official announcements. No matter how strong he thought he was, or how much "better" he had become since his last failure, Yuuri always managed to prove himself wrong and retreat back into that same scared shell he had barely crawled out of to begin with.

He sat in the lounge, stretching and trying to isolate himself from everyone else who was hanging out, trying desperately to focus on his music and his excruciating nerves that were tingling over his entire body. But as a vision of black, bright blonde hair, and flowing fuchsia and red fire appeared on the flat screen, Yuuri found himself drawn to the TV.

The Yuri Plisetsky on that TV was nothing like the Yuri Plisetsky that he had watched compete almost a year ago at the Grand Prix Final. This Yuri Plisetsky was burning even brighter than the Agape he had yet to perform with this level of intensity. Even back then, Yuuri knew that the little blonde spitfire was going to be a force to be reckoned with, and Yuuri honestly hadn't _wanted_ to find himself in the crossfire. But now, as the aggressive strings and orchestral music that was so distinctive and powerful filled the arena as Yuri began his program, Yuuri could see that he was no longer just an explosive junior skater who would quickly burn out. Now, he was a wildfire that would ravage everything in his path and stop at nothing until he had claimed that ice for his own. Even from across the screen, Yuuri could feel his spark igniting the competitive drive in himself.

Yuuri needed to move and stretch and burn off some steam and excess energy while Yuri was still skating his program. Sometimes it was amazing at what the feeling of being underestimated could do to fuel a drive to succeed and prove them wrong. Seeing little Yuri did exactly that for Yuuri. Even if he knew it was unlikely that he could pull off a perfect program, Yuuri still owed it to Celestino, his family, his federation and most of all — to himself — to give it everything he possibly had. There was no telling if today was going to be his last competition, or if he would get to continue showing off the real "Yuuri on ice" after this, so it was now or never.

As Yuuri neared the boards and readied himself to take the ice, he watched in amazement at what Yuri had been able to do on the ice — at 15 nonetheless. It truly was breathtaking taking seeing the perseverance and persistence in every single jump. Yuuri couldn't even _imagine_ doing that at 15, even if he had been in a place to. Even now, Yuuri didn't think he could manage a performance like that.

When it was all over, Yuuri watched as the smaller Russian collapsed onto the ice, obviously exhausted from what looked like a performance way beyond his limits, and something that some skaters could only dream of doing. As the blonde struggled to regain his footing and take his bows, Yuuri knew it was time to face the roaring crowd and his raging fears.

He quickly shed the black jacket, and saw a JSF representative that was standing in the coaches area. Yuuri knew this must have been the unlucky woman to have been assigned to watch over him. With a small nod, and the most cordial smile he could muster, Yuuri acknowledged the woman and she reached out in an offer to take his jacket and guards, which Yuuri gratefully accepted.

Somehow in the blink of an eye, Yuuri had found himself on the ice, but he honestly couldn't even remember taking off his guards, much less any announcement. Either way, all that mattered now was that he was there, and he had a job to do.

But as Yuuri took his opening pose and looked down towards the ice and his skates, his legs turned wobbly and his vision blurred. With a deep yet shaky breath, Yuuri tried to calm himself because a panic attack was the last thing he needed. Especially since he tended to flub his jumps when there was something on his mind — and there was _a lot_ going on up there. Yuuri just needed to keep thing simple, because he was the only one who could skate this program with the appeal and emotion he knew he could.

Yuuri knew he was overflowing with so many emotions, that it was going to be difficult to compartmentalize and focus them where he needed to to make this program really shine. But that was the problem with performing a program that was so full of love — it was hard to pull off when Yuuri felt so alone and full of longing. This was a love that Yuuri could only express on the ice, with his jumps, with his choreography, with his steps and with his performance. "Yuri on Ice" was going to be the pinnacle of is career, and if it was the last thing he ever skated, he needed to be satisfied with the _Yuuri_ he showcased on the ice. He just hoped it would be enough.

_"I can't let them think that everything I've done up to now has been a waste. I have to prove that by winning — because if I fail here, everything is over."_

+++++++++

As Yuuri stood in his final pose, body shaking and breathing nearly impossible, he had his eyes clenched tight. In fear that if he opened them, all he would see would be the lines drawn deep in the white ice below him. If he opened them, he was probably going to start crying right then and there, as his heart broke deep in his chest. Or worse, he would see the pitiful and disappointed looks from the audience at his shoddy performance.

That was the toughest program that Yuuri had ever performed in his life. Every jump was a fight. He popped the toe loop on the end of his first combination. The quad salchow definitely had enough rotations, but his blade got caught on the landing and he fell. Yuuri landed his triple loop on two feet. His triple axel - single loop - triple salchow ended up with a double salchow. Even on his triple toe loop at the end of the last combination had a touch down. And that was only what Yuuri knew he messed up, not even thinking about what the tech panel had to say.

After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a few seconds at the most, Yuuri finally felt his heart begin to unclench and the palpitations began again. Although the feeling that his lungs were about to burst and his heart was going to leap out of his chest wasn't ideal, it still reminded him that he was alive and had a "show" to finish.

Albeit blurry from his dried out contacts and the exhaustion that felt like it would consume his entire body, one thing was perfectly clear when Yuuri opened his eyes. It was the incredible flash of pain that circulated through his entire body as he realized he was staring directly into the dull turquoise eyes of one bemused and unamused Victor Nikiforov. With Yuuri posed in such a vulnerable ending position — arm stretched out and reaching directly for the silver haired Russian — he could feel the shame and embarrassment of knowing that once again, he had made a fool of himself.

Yuuri wasn't sure whether the nausea bloomed from his exhaustion, embarrassment or his disease, but his legs and willpower were no longer strong enough for him to remain standing, and he fell onto his knees.

His whole body was shuddering with the pain — psychosomatic or otherwise — that was coursing through his veins and mind as he held his head in his hands. If there was one thing Yuuri wouldn't let himself do, it was break down crying in front of Victor. He didn't have much after all this time, but it was his one last remaining shred of dignity that he still had to hold onto. But holding on was not an easy task when he honestly wished he could just be taken off the ice on a stretcher; at least then he wouldn't have to take his bows or make his way to the gate on the jelly legs that he didn't trust to hold himself up.

It only made sense that Victor had been watching him. He was the last skater to go up, and he was next. Yuuri shouldn't have been so surprised, but it still hurt to stare his own inadequacy right in the face. Especially when he looked like _that._

The look Victor was giving Yuuri could only be described as contemplative and almost _brooding_ . Like Yuuri wasn't even worthy to be out there on the same ice he was about to compete on. Sure, it was unlikely that is what Victor was actually thinking, but those piercing eyes bore straight into Yuuri's soul and left him naked, unworthy and afraid. That state was _cold_ and it reminded him of everything that Yuuri had been trying to forget since last year's Grand Prix Final.

As Yuuri forced himself back onto his feet to take his bows and thank the audience for putting up with a performance like that, all he could think about were those eyes. The ocean-colored windows that Yuuri had practically memorized over the course of years of staring into the posters on his wall, seemed so dull. So distant. So disapproving. So done. It honestly made Yuuri wonder what he could have done to be on the receiving end of such a stare.

The very image was still burned into his memory as he made the trek to the Kiss and Cry. Yuuri vaguely noticed the JSF representative that waited for him at the gate with his jacket and skate guards, but Yuuri didn't pay any real attention. It was just another nameless face from his federation who he didn't know, and who was the poor sap that was tasked with being his babysitter until he got his scores. If the representative had even made any attempts at conversation or 'comfort', Yuuri was deaf to it; the mix of his body which was heavy with fatigue, his swirling intrusive thoughts and the reverberating cheers that echoed from all across the arena made it impossible to focus. All Yuuri wanted to do was leave.

Until he got his scores, he had no way of knowing how much he had screwed himself, but he still felt like a failure. It felt so stifling and uncomfortable to be sitting next to a stranger in the Kiss and Cry; although Yuuri knew it looked better for the camera, he would have much preferred to just be alone. He would rather do without the obligatory awkward conversation and judgement that came from being under the microscope of the cameras that only accentuated the looming pressure that came from a score announcement.

Yuuri was disassociating so hard that he almost forgot he was looking at the jumbotron when the announcer came over the loudspeakers to announce the scores.

 **Yuuri Katsuki (JPN)** ****  
**Free Skate Score: 172.87  
** **Combined Total Score: 282.02  
** **Current Placement: 3rd**

Somehow, the outcome hadn't been as bad as it could have been, but he was still in 3rd behind Yuri and Michele with Victor still to skate. The score wasn't nearly as low as he was expecting, which meant that his PCS scores must have been pretty high, but Yuuri was too zoned out to focus on them when they came up on screen.

Lead feet carried Yuuri out of the Kiss and Cry and into the line of fire from the press corps. It was times like these when Yuuri wished that he _wasn't_ a “top” skater. Then, he wouldn’t have to deal with journalists, reporters and photographers who would never be so kind as to just give him a break on days like today. Days like today, where all Yuuri wanted to do was to curl up in a ball, covered by a blanket, and just sleep for 10 years. He was exhausted — mentally, physically and emotionally. But, this was his job; and Yuuri had gotten pretty used to wearing a mask and keeping his answers short and sweet.

Microphones and cameras were in his face as he stood in front of the “Step and Repeat”. The backdrop was probably meant to make the whole backstage area look more official and important, but to Yuuri he just felt like it was all entirely unnecessary. All of the questions had something to do with either Celestino, the Grand Prix Final or his plans for the rest of the season — none of which, Yuuri could really answer without giving away personal information that he wasn’t comfortable with sharing yet. Who really cared about all of these useless articles and interviews with a hack skater like him, who couldn’t even hold it together without his coach. Sure? Russia was one of the most difficult places to compete, and sure Yuuri was not in top-condition by any stretch of the means, but if he really thought he could win gold at the Grand Prix Final… some things needed to drastically change, or he would surely be disappointed.

Gradually, murmurs from the crowd around him started getting louder, and Yuuri realized that Victor must have been wrapping up his Free Program. And knowing the tone of the cheers, it was more than likely a perfect program — if not a score to break his previous world record. It was a conflicting and heart wrenching feeling to be _so close_ to his ultimate goal, and to finally say all the words that he wanted to say to Victor, but to still feel _so far_ away.

With Victor taking his expected first place, that would put Yuri Plisetsky into second, Michele Crispino into third, and Yuuri falling off the podium and into fourth. This meant that both Yuuri and Michele were tied for points, however Yuuri’s silver would just barely secure him a spot in the final over Michele’s two bronzes.

Now that the Rostelecom Cup was over, the final 6 who would advance to the Grand Prix Final had been decided. The first were the 3 — Otabek, Christophe and Phichit — who had all basically been confirmed already. Victor cemented his practically engraved ticket with his gold tonight, and another huge score. Yuri, who finished second had earned his first trip to the Grand Prix Final at only age 15…

And then there was Yuuri.

Once his interviews were over, and the press had someone far more important to interrogate, Yuuri snuck out and into the back area of the rink. He ran his hands through his gelled hair and took a deep breath. Even if it was bittersweet, and still didn’t feel earned, Yuuri was going to the Grand Prix Final. He had gotten his ticket back to Barcelona, and he had one last chance to do what he had only been able to dream of until now.

With another sigh, Yuuri entered the locker room to go pack up his things and get ready to leave. As the fourth-place finisher, Yuuri was as good as chopped liver when it came to the impending medal ceremony — and watching that when he could have been on the podium was the last thing he needed right now. All Yuuri really wanted was to be alone and text Phichit to see if he had any updates on Natalia or Celestino.

Yuuri would have given anything to be there and support Natalia, especially after her last accident. He never wanted to feel that helpless over a friend again. Even if Detroit were just a few hours closer, he could maybe feel a little calmer. But for now, the best he could do was leave in the morning on the next flight out and trust Phichit to keep him updated.

Yuuri had been invited to perform in the Exhibition Gala, but Yuuri needed to go home. Would the extra money that they would have paid him to perform be nice? Yes, but he had more important things to attend to; and unlike in the past, time was a precious resource that Yuuri couldn’t afford to waste.

All Yuuri really wanted to do was collapse on the benches and maybe cry a little bit, just to get the emotions out. But the solitude and silence he was so grateful to have in these precious few moments was fleeting. The passing thought ran through his head, where he was sure glad he had taken his suppressants right before the competition. With the combined ache of his body and mind, Yuuri didn’t know whether he would have been able to handle an attack right now. Especially with how agitated his symptoms would be with the state of his current mental state. Even if Yuuri knew he couldn’t take them all the time, in fear of aggravating his disease, sometimes he toyed with the notion that it would be worth it to not have to live in constant fear of a Hanahaki attack.

Soon, the medal ceremony would be over and the locker room and backstage area would be congested with commotion. Begrudgingly, Yuuri cleared out his locker and changed out of his navy outfit, and instead opted for a few warm layers and his Team Japan tracksuit.

He knew the wind chill outside would probably turn him into a popsicle the second he left the arena, but it was too warm inside the arena to don his tan winter coat, scarf and face mask. Plus, if Yuuri had decided to wear those now, it would look like he was hiding and trying to sneak out. Which while yes, he was trying to leave, Yuuri didn’t have anything to hide. Although he wasn’t necessarily happy with his performance in the Free Skate or excited about the outcome, Yuuri wasn’t ashamed. His tears and his emotions were coming from a place of guilt and the overwhelming weight of his future — not disappointment in himself. And he didn’t need anyone thinking that he was, especially not after the last time he actually _had_ felt that way.

With his bag slung over his shoulder, Yuuri exit the dark locker room and headed back out into the hustle and bustle of the event. Apparently either the ceremony had been rather short, or Yuuri had taken a much longer break than he had meant to. Just as he made his way down the hallway, Yuuri saw the approaching Crispino twins. He couldn’t understand what they had been talking about from across the hall, because it just sounded like loud and jumbled Italian.

But as soon as Sara looked up and saw Yuuri, her tan face lit up and she practically knocked Michele to the side as she ran towards him with outstretched arms and a bright smile.

“Yuuri! Congrats on qualifying for the Grand Prix Final! I knew you’d make it.” The Italian girl practically squealed, and seemed genuinely excited. Despite the looming sneer coming from her brother who had finally caught up to them, who was a complete 180 from her bubbliness, even with the medal around his neck. By the looks on his face, he was about to go ballistic if Yuuri even pulled one wrong move. But Yuuri had known the two of them for far too long, and knew that anger was only a show. Michele honestly didn’t even have an “anger problem” even if he seemed like it sometimes. His only problem was being far-too protective of his sister, and not being aware of the scowl that his face naturally formed. Or how loud he was.

Although Sara’s words were sweet, it was more just nice to hear someone actually congratulate him, rather than ask “what happened” to make him fall to 4th. But in that moment, all Yuuri could think about was that this could be the last time he saw either of the Crispino twins. Sure, Sara was expected to make the Grand Prix Final after her Top 3 placement at Worlds that year, and after her gold medal earlier in the Grand Prix series. Even though Michele was sure to follow close behind to support his sister in Spain, would Yuuri _actually_ see either of them through all of the chaos of such a huge competition? Those thoughts were racing through his mind, and he couldn’t even form words — so Yuuri just acted on instinct.

He really needed a hug. Or 20.

Somewhere in his brain, he foggily processed the unintelligible screaming that had to have come from Michele, since he was ‘too close to his sister’. But Yuuri just revelled in the warmth of the embrace before tightly hugging Michele in the same manner. Yuuri didn’t even process the squawking and struggling to get out of the hug, because just as soon as it started, Yuuri spotted his next (victim) friend.

Emil had popped his head into the hallway, presumably after hearing the object of his affection screaming. As Yuuri let go of the slightly taller Italian man, he could vaguely see the contradicting sight of Michele both foaming at the mouth, and what appeared to be blushing. Yuuri quickly wrapped his arms around the big Czech teddy bear, who was unsurprisingly good at giving hugs. While there was no feasible way for Emil to know the circumstances that led up to this “hugging contest”, as he called it… he seemed to somehow innately know that Yuuri _really_ needed that hug.

With Emil’s puppy dog like energy and excitement, being around him always felt happy and unstressful. Even though Yuuri wasn’t that close with him, he had always enjoyed competing against him; because he always managed to make the most bitter competition environment feel like they were all just getting ready to perform together in an ice show.

Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri saw movement in the form of a sulking Korean; and even though he didn’t _remember_ or _realize_ that he had already let go of Emil, he somehow found himself hugging Seung Gil’s stiff form.

Even though Seung Gil had always been cold and reserved during competitions and didn’t act his age, he was still so young. Yuuri absentmindedly thought back to what he saw while he was stretching in the hall before his Free Skate. The ever-stoic Korean skater was crying; and Yuuri didn’t blame him. So, even if Seung Gil looked visibly disturbed by the hug, Yuuri knew he needed it too.

Soon, Yuuri found himself chasing after the one person he literally thought he would have been running from at the beginning of this competition. Yuri Plisetsky was a perplexing young skater. Sometimes, even just looking in his direction wrong could be as bad as poking a bear with a stick. Other times, the innocence and naivety was evident despite the tough facade he always wore. He was barely even 15, and he had his whole life ahead of him.

Despite their differences, Yuuri could see himself in the little blonde boy. While Yuuri had never been as talented or fiery as the other Yuri, he did know what it was like to have those kind of expectations of greatness laid out in front of him. Even more so, when no matter how hard he worked, it still always seemed so far out of reach. Yuuri had known that as a junior, when he had names like Daisuke Takahashi, Nobunari Oda, Tatsuki Machida, Takahiko Kozuka and so many others always lightyears ahead of him. When those skaters started retiring, Yuuri’s own name kept getting tossed into the ring to fill their shoes — which Yuuri _never_ felt qualified to take on.

Even now, with his struggle to surpass Chris or Victor or even the little Yuri, it always seemed like there was _someone_ in the way of his dreams. Something that was out of Yuuri’s control, and made him feel helpless.

He was sure, that somehow, Yuri must feel the same way. Even with the angry snarl on his face as he continued to run from Yuuri’s hug, he could see the bubbling fear and confusion for what was in store for his future. Just as Yuuri knew so well in himself. It reminded Yuuri of just how far both of them had come since Yuri had so rudely kicked his bathroom stall down in Sochi, and verbally accosted him. Sure, the Russian had underestimated him, but now Yuuri felt confident in saying that he was a different person than he was back then — and he could see that Yuri was too.

Despite his persistence and stubbornness, Yuri had managed to slip away before Yuuri could give him what would have been another much needed hug. Part of that probably had to do with Yuuri’s depleted energy supply, which quickly emptied and made it impossible to keep up the chase. Now that it was on empty, and he no longer felt the insatiable need for physical contact, Yuuri could feel himself entering a zombie-like state.

He could barely even comprehend that he was still at the arena because of how tired he was. Yuuri’s mind was surprisingly quiet — no faint buzzing or vibrating or muted mumbling of his own thoughts. Now, all he wanted was to pass out on his hotel bed so he could at least try and sleep for a few hours before his early morning flight back to Detroit.

Although it was late at night and he was exhausted, Yuuri didn’t even think about calling a taxi. His hotel was only a few blocks away, and even though he barely knew the area, it couldn’t be that bad even with the bitter cold that was awaiting him once he left the warmth of the arena. Yuuri had dealt with snow his whole life, whether it was in Hatsetsu or in Detroit, and he could definitely remember many an early morning jog along snow-painted white streets on his way to the rink. But normally, Yuuri couldn’t even enjoy the chill and quiet of a snowy night like that because he was always too preoccupied with his own worries.

Even if it wasn’t the smartest idea, Yuuri could take care of himself, so he decided to slough it and walk. Yuuri soon headed towards the exit and pulled on his coat and gloves before leaving the building to be met with a frigid wall of wind and icy air.

+++++++++

Yuuri found himself lost in his own thoughts while taking on the frozen tundra of the Moscow sidewalks on his walk back to the hotel. Up above, the sky was a dark navy, seeming cloudless in the soft, dark and silent night. Stark white which blanketed the street and path stared up at Yuuri, engulfing him in a cold emptiness. On this street, he was alone.

It was silent, it was calm, and it was cold. Small puffs of his breath managed to seep through the white mask Yuuri wore over his face to protect him from germs and the chill, but it really only helped with one of those. Even though his coat and scarf were thick, the frigid Russian winter seeped into every cell of Yuuri’s body and chilled him to the bone.

But for some reason, Yuuri didn’t notice — or he at least didn’t care that he was cold. The slight pain and the bite helped give him some clarity that he had been looking for all weekend. His mind was no longer fuzzy, or constantly spinning over improbabilities. No, now, his thoughts were as clear as a bell. Unobscured by passing traffic, or even the street lights above. Snow and cold muted his surroundings, but also numbed his anxiety.

Yuuri was so close to the peak of his competitive skating career. He had made it this far once in his life — his goal back within reach. The taste of gold and the medal already burning the tip of his tongue in anticipation.

Barcelona was his last chance — the Grand Prix Final would be Yuuri Katsuki’s last competition in his skating career. Whether he walked away a champion, or fell back into despair in dead last again… Yuuri had no other option. Now as he solidly began living in the third stage of his disease, Yuuri could feel the toll it was taking on his body. Nevermind the ‘timeline’ and life expectancy that he still had to look forward to; his body was going to give up on skating long before he did.

Just doing one single run-through during the practice before a competition took everything out of Yuuri. That Free Skate, albeit far from perfect, was the toughest program he had ever competed in his life — both mentally and physically. If the thorns and roots didn’t choke him or puncture a hole in his lungs first… his body was going to wither away and make it impossible for Yuuri to redeem himself if he failed again.

As Yuuri found himself lost deep in his own morbid thoughts, he was unaware of the sudden appearance and subsequent kick coming from a small blur to his right. The force pushed Yuuri onto the slightly-cushioned ground below him and sent a shrill pang over his body when he looked up to see the source of the kick. Up above him was the Russian Punk and Rostelecom Cup Silver Medalist: Yuri Plisetsky.

Dread filled Yuuri as the vibrating static of anxious thoughts flew back tenfold into his head. Why would _Yuri Plisetsky_ be looking for _him?_ The disgrace who had only made it into the Grand Prix Final by the skin of his teeth, and someone that Yuri had quote for quote said _“needed to retire already”_ because there couldn’t be _“two Yuris in the same division”_.

“There you are, _piggy_. You made me look for you.” Those words came out of the blonde in a deeply accented and naturally angry tone of english that would have made Yuuri cower in fear, if he wasn’t already in inhospitable temperatures.

Still, Yuuri wracked his mind for anything he could have done to provoke the younger Russian; but all that came up was ‘hugging’, and even in the worst case scenario, that couldn’t have been enough to cause such a stir from the boy.

“O-oh Yuri…” The Japanese skater struggled to utter as a form of greeting.

“What was that earlier? Stop creeping me out! And what was that Free Skate, anyway? You can’t make the excuse that you couldn’t do your best because your coach wasn’t there. I was in top form and I earned a new Personal Best — only to lose to Victor again! You have no right to feel more down than me, pig!”

Yuuri just stared up at the teen in shock as the words sunk in. Somehow, _this_ was Yuri trying to _comfort_ him and be nice. Even more surprising, was the fact that Yuri had apparently sought him out, even though Yuuri had put on a dismal performance worthy of the ridicule he expected from the medalist. But instead, Yuuri felt a small thump of a brown paper bag hit his chest as it was thrown from the boy’s hands.

“Here, these are for you…” The blonde who normally looked like an angry street cat who had been put in a bath against its will, somehow looked like a bashful kitten. Soft features, a gentle blush, and what looked to be a smile that he was fighting to keep off of his face. This was a new side that Yuuri had never seen from his name-sake rival. If anything, Yuuri would think the pure and simple emotion would do well as a vessel for his _Agape_ program. “It’s almost your birthday, right?”

“Huh?!” Yuuri incredulously asked, because One: how would Yuri even know his birthday. And Two: why would he even be bothered to give him _anything?_ But when Yuuri opened the small paper bag, he saw “... Pirozhki…?” To which the blonde was unimpressed.

“Eat.”

“Huh? Right here?!” Although strange, it was almost endearing how stubborn the 15 year-old was.

“Eat!"

When Yuuri pulled out the fried pocket, he didn’t bother inspecting it before taking a bite of the surprisingly still warm, fresh and flakey pastry. The texture was… strange… almost as if there was —

“Rice…? And pork cutlet… and egg too…?” With all of the flavors melting on his tongue, Yuuri looked down to look at the inside — and it looked like home. He gasped and looked up at the teen with a bright smile on his face, even with his mask askew and letting in the freezing air.

The look on the younger Yuri’s face could only be described by being as bright as twinkling fairy lights that could light up even the darkest room. Similar to his more-hated moniker: the Russian Fairy.

“That’s right! My grandpa made them himself when I told him about an interview where you talked about your favorite foods to eat after a —” Suddenly a bright red blush overtook his pale face as he realized that he was not only letting his angry facade fall, but that he was accidentally sharing more than he intended to.

Yuri quickly pulled his hood further over his head to try and mask his embarrassment as he turned away from the Japanese skater he looked up to. From behind the hands that were covering his face, Yuuri could hear a timid question that was meant to change the subject. “But they’re great, aren’t they…?”

Yuuri himself couldn’t stop smiling at the adorable younger skater, and he took another large bite to show his appreciation. “Yeah! They’re vkusno!”

They really were delicious. But more than that, they filled Yuuri with a warmth and fullness that didn’t just come from the food. This was exactly the feeling that Yuuri needed to remind himself of how lucky he was, and how far he had come. He was not alone, even when he felt lost in the solitude of the midnight Moscow streets.

Even if Yuuri didn’t always realize it, _he_ was definitely his own worst critic. The person who he had previously _thought_ deserved that title, was standing right in front of him proving him wrong.

The younger man turned around after a few moments of silence, which he had apparently used to regain his composure, as he was no longer writhing in embarrassment. “I know you're better than this, pig. Don’t prove me wrong at the Grand Prix Final. I want to beat both you _and_ Victor fair and square…” His last words echoed through the barren landscape around them before the blonde started to walk away.

It only took a few steps before Yuri stopped again. Although he decided to trust the wind to carry his message to Yuuri, as he didn’t bother to turn around. “Happy Birthday, Yuuri… and good luck.” Those were his final words, before heading in the opposite direction, back off into the dark night.

As Yuuri headed back to the hotel, the interaction with Yuri stuck in his mind. It was clear not as day, but as the bright white of the snow around him. Yuri had his whole life ahead of him, and he was already in a position to take on the world. Something Yuuri couldn’t even dream of or think he was worthy of doing until this season. It sure was going to be a wild ride when Yuuri finally got to Spain, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

In two weeks, Yuuri Katsuki would skate for the last time in his competitive career, and quite possibly in his life. He was going to face a dark horse who could very well usurp a title and make history for his country. Another opponent would be a long-time friend and competitor who had almost been a constant presence throughout Yuuri’s career; and Chris was one of the only people besides Phichit that Yuuri could genuinely say understood him, and treated him as an equal. Then of course there was the 15 year-old boy, who was so full of talent and passion and nerve; what he lacked in experience, he more than made up for tenacity and willpower. And it honestly scared Yuuri, but it also made his stomach grow bubbly at the thought of competing against him — for real this time.

For the first time, Yuuri would also _really_ get to compete against his best friend. Up until the moment they both step onto the ice in Barcelona, neither Yuuri or Phichit will have ever _really_ competed against each other. They had always viewed each other as competition, but instead of feeling tension and rivalry, they both chose to divert those feelings into motivation to make themselves better. Whether they had travelled together for the Grand Prix, Four Continents or Worlds, they always just wanted to do their best. But now, only one of them could stand on top of that podium. Now that both of them had finally achieved their dreams of going to the Grand Prix Final, the bulls had begun to run wild, and it would only be a matter of time before they smelled blood.

But more than worthy competitors, rivals or old friends… The Grand Prix Final was Yuuri’s chance to not only show the world — but to show his idol — that he was a force to be reckoned with.

Yuuri had no time left to spare and he had so many things he needed to say. So many things he needed to do.

It would all come down to the Grand Prix Final. If Yuuri could just put his heart and soul onto the ice two more times… if he could just finally work up the courage and _talk_ to Victor… Not as an idol, not as a competitor, but as a human and an inspiration. Yuuri had wanted for so long to open his heart to the man whose face lined the walls of every room he had ever lived in… and to tell Victor just how much he had done for Yuuri throughout his life — even if he had been blissfully unaware.

Victor might not have inspired Yuuri to skate, but he had inspired Yuuri to _keep_ skating. He might not have encouraged Yuuri to compete, but he had given Yuuri the courage to _keep_ competing.

The skating phenomenon might not be the love of his life, or even know that Yuuri Katsuki exists… but Victor Nikiforov was the reason that Yuuri _could_ love, and he was the reason that he _kept_ existing over all of these years and through all of his hardships. He was the ultimate goal that Yuuri kept striving for and was living to achieve.

A few coughs erupted from Yuuri’s mask-covered mouth. Whether the source was from the frigid air or his deteriorating body, he didn’t know. But that was enough of a sign, where Yuuri knew he needed to get back to the hotel so that he could get home to face the last leg of this series — and possibly the last leg of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for putting up with the wait, and the fact that instead of the "short" chapter I had said I was going to be giving y'all... you got THIS.
> 
> Either way, thank you so much for sticking with this story, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I sadly do not think I will be updating again before the end of NaNoWriMo, because I have to work on some commissions and exchange pieces, but rest assured I will still be working on this, especially because I have been waiting to write Chapter 6 for so long.
> 
> Thanks so much, happy holidays if you celebrate, and if you are working on NaNo, I believe in you and am so proud of the work you have done for this challenge, no matter how big or small. (Also, even if you aren't working on NaNo, I am also proud of you in whatever undertakings or real-life things you have been working on)
> 
> See y'all next chapter!


	6. “Life is Too Valuable to Throw Away Because of Your Own Negligence”

# Chapter 6

### Delphinium — “Life is Too Valuable to Throw Away Because of Your Own Negligence”

  
Hacking and coughing and wheezing and gagging wracked through his whole body. Thank god he had been lucky enough to be able to quickly run to the bathroom once he felt his chest start tightening and shuddering. Even luckier, was that since everyone was still reeling from the awards ceremony, the locker room was empty and _private_ . 

So he could be left to his hacking and utter misery in peace.

Pale, trembling hands grabbed onto the edge of the bathroom counter for dear life, the skin of his knuckles threatening to rip open at the pressure he was exerting. If only it could take away some of the pain from his chest and throat and head.

Liquid could be felt dribbling down the side of his mouth and face. He couldn’t tell whether it was spit, bile or blood. But none of those would seem out of place anymore, and he didn’t care. It wasn’t even worth wiping away, because it’s not like his symptoms would be relieved any time soon.

Looking back down into the sink, small flecks of water were visible all over. Left from the last people who had washed their hands. Maybe some of those droplets were spit, maybe some were bile... but the very thin spray of red spread around the white countertop and sink... that was definitely blood.

This was his life now. 

His quivering lips curled up for a split second, not even bothering to laugh at his own misery that came at the hands of the cruel irony he had been dealt. For most of his life, flowers had been a thing to win. A symbol of a job well done.

Now all they symbolized was his career and his life being done.

Each cough sounded like he was dying (which he basically was), and it felt as if every time the walls of his throat slapped together, they were  tearing bits and pieces of his flesh and attempting to hack it up along with the godforsaken flowers.

Finally he could feel it. All he could do was hope that there wouldn’t be any more blood along with _whatever_ decided to rear it’s ugly head and bloom today. And he _really_ didn’t want to have to clean up any more than he already had to.

His lungs began to seize and quake. It felt like his chest was going to cave in from the hacking and slamming coming from both the coughing, and he could feel a bruise forming underneath his costume.

With a sickening retch, a full bloom pushed itself up his throat and finally out and into the sink. It still took quite a bit of coughing until he could finally stop. There were probably a bunch of petals trying to free themselves after the main blossom finally extricate itself. While he knew he had yet to grow any major stems, he could swear that thorns were beginning to wind up the inside of his trachea due to the intensity of pain that came with each cough nowadays.

Finally, as he could feel his raspy, wheezing breath begin to steady, he took in a few deep breaths. Something, either in his throat or his lungs was rattling with the slow breath moving through it — but being able to breathe was still such a relief compared to the fighting and crying through coughs.

After a few seconds, he slowly opened his eyes to stare down at the counter. His lithe hands were still shivering, and they looked even paler and pained from his worsened state.

A large, broken stem of small, violet-blue star shaped flowers and buds was sitting in the middle of the sink.

Delphinium. That was a new one.

There were a few scattered tulip, gardenia, and white rose petals strung everywhere. Some brighter and larger than others, while some were already wilted and tiny. Some, like the rest of the sink — were spattered with tiny specks of red blood.

He felt like he spent at least an hour, lost in his own melancholy thoughts while he contemplated the ironic and painful contents of the sink. Then, he slowly gave in to the sadistic ache to let his eyes peer up through his long, silvery bangs to look at himself in the mirror — and at the miserable state he was currently in.

The thin, gaudy red ribbon that was hanging around his neck and that was stained with his own blood felt heavy — both due to the gold medal and the irony as it still shined as if it still carried any meaning.

Clouded, seafoam eyes looked directly back into their own soulless, sunken reflection to stare death right in the face.

Victor Nikiforov was dying.

  
  
+++++++++

 

It all started in March of that year.

Victor was in the midst of competing at the World Figure Skating Championships in Yoyogi, Japan, and he was expected to easily earn his fifth consecutive Worlds gold medal. He was in first place after the short program, and everything was just as it should have been. Interviews, press conferences, TV cameras, all things that Victor had grown to associate with skating.

Up until he got back to his hotel that night, everything had seemed... uneventful. Every event held the same everyday “Victor Nikiforov” competition atmosphere. Which meant that he was just happy to be on the ice, excited to perform, and was living for the thrill of the surprise. _That_ was something Victor could feel — palpable in an arena every time he performed. Despite all of his awards and accolades, it never _really_ mattered how well he placed. All Victor _really_ wanted to do was skate the best he could, and feel the energy and excitement from the crowd. It was so invigorating.

Everything felt perfectly normal — if not _better_ than normal during his Short Program, where Victor had just barely missed breaking his own world record.

However everything changed on that late March night when Victor was sound asleep in his hotel room. Until the pain coursed through his body, and he shot up in his bed — fully awake. Coughing, hacking, nausea, _pain_. The only time that Victor could ever remember ever feeling so helpless and wracked with pain was when he broke his ankle in his second year of Seniors. But even then… nothing had felt like _this._  

After agonizing minutes of pain and choking and being unable to breath, Victor finally felt _something_ come up. It wasn’t vomit. It was a white, fully bloomed rose. A quick and desperate search on his phone returned with the colloquial name: Christmas Rose.

If Victor hadn’t been in such extreme pain and his brain weren’t reeling from the whiplash, exhaustion and mental turmoil that was crashing into him… he would have laughed at the irony. A flower named after the day of his own birth was the herald that brought the countdown to his own death.

For Victor there were no options. As an international Russian celebrity and athlete — especially as one in the middle of the biggest competition of the skating season, trying to defend his reigning title — Victor only had one option. He had to hide.

In Russia, Hanahaki Disease was not only a death sentence — it was a disgrace. No treatment centers or over-the-counter medication was available throughout the entire country. Well, at least not legally. Because of the heinous policies, a very sizable black market had popped up. However, it was mainly used as a tool of survival and necessity, not treatment.

Every “soulmate-finding app” and matching website had been _banned_ by Russian laws, and required either a VPN or access to the dark web in order to use.

There was no education, there was no media coverage, there was no hope.

The only “kremlin-approved” treatment was laser tattoo removal. If by some chance a Hanahaki patient in remission had _found_ their soulmate, they were required to get their tattoo removed. Or else face discrimination and even potential incarceration for defying the government. And so, instead of clinics lining the street of every town, as had popped up all across the developed world…. in Russia, tattoo-removal clinics and cover-up parlors took their place.

Even if by some _miracle_ Victor found his soulmate, his skating career would be over. Just a few months ago, Victor had seen what the disease had done to Georgi’s ex-girlfriend, Anya. She was lucky to still be _alive_ , to which Victor was grateful. But if she ever attempted to have a career in skating again, her luck would surely run dry. Honestly, Victor would be surprised if she didn’t flee the confines of Russia.

It was common knowledge what happened to pawns of the Russian state if they contracted this disease — they were forcibly erased from the public eye. Anyone who no longer conveyed the proper form of state-approved, live-action propaganda was no longer welcome as a Russian.

This fate would befall even Victor Nikiforov — the national hero of Russia, if he ever came forward as a victim of Hanahaki. And Victor was not ready to give up his life or his love of skating. It was all he had known for over 20 years of his life, and he wasn’t ready to come to terms with retirement yet. Even more so, Victor was not ready to be forced out of Russia or his livelihood

So Victor decided — that at least for the time being — it would be easier to keep skating. To ignore the disease that was growing inside his body. To live in the shadows and hide for the rest of his life.

The only positive to this inopportune time and devastating disease, was that he did not contract it while in Russia. So Victor began to search the internet to see if there was a 24-hour clinic nearby to get the medication that would be the difference between life and death for him.  

Somehow, despite the state of his health and sanity after a sleepless night of coughing and anxiety… Victor Nikiforov still managed to pull off not only his 5th consecutive World Championship Gold Medal…. but a new World Record.

 

+++++++++

 

In late June or July (it was hard to remember, since time had become a very _relative_ thing for Victor as his life began to pass by in the blink of an eye) the International Skating Union released their assignments for the Grand Prix Series.

Normally for skaters across the world, this announcement was one of the most exciting non-competitive moments of their life, as their careers began to take international note. But for Victor, it was just a Tuesday. For a man who thrived off of surprise, the Grand Prix series had lost its lustre after his 2nd win. Every year, the ISU contacted him to see which assignments he wanted; and while it _really_ didn’t matter to him one way or another, it would have been refreshing to _not_ have to compete in Russia for once in his life.

So with a bit of a sardonic and apathetic tone, Victor checked the list, but only because he had happened to have his phone open when he got the email notification.

Skate Canada International and the Rostelecom Cup.  

Just as Victor knew would happen, there were no frills or surprises. It didn’t matter who was competing in either competition. No matter what state Victor was in, no matter his performance… he was still a shoo-in to not only win both events with a first place finish, and earn a berth to the Grand Prix Final — there was no question about it whatsoever.

Victor knew like clockwork, he would not only end up on the top of the podium with a medal around his neck, but his name would be on the bottom of the Gala invitation list and schedule. The men’s gold medalist, the 5-time Grand Prix Final Champion, 5-time World Champion, 2-time Olympic medalist and champion, with even more medals and accolades to his name. As such, he would be forced to participate and skate an exhibition program with no meaning at all.

The only thing that seeing his name on that list _did_ mean for Victor, was there was no backing out now. He had dug his grave, and he was going to lie in it.

Within moments, whatever gods that existed in the universe must have decided to torture Victor and show him a real “surprise”. But instead of anything skating related, Victor got _gardenias_.  

Three large, spiraled, pure white flowers with long, lithe petals came up — one after another after another. Even after months of dealing with flowers, Victor still couldn’t get used to the terrible feeling of death that shrouded his body every time a Hanahaki attack came.

His only solace was the comfort he could always find in the loving embrace and affection that Victor had in his poodle, Makkachin. If Victor ever fell into an attack at the apartment, she always came running. Usually whining in some form, probably in response to the obvious pain her owner was in. But she would always cuddle into his shaking frame in an attempt to stop his coughing and his pain. Makkachin was one of the only reminders Victor had left to remind him of _love_.

 

+++++++++

 

The next _surprise_ came while Victor was in France. This season, like many for Victor, got a late start. However, it was not due to Hanahaki related complications. Like the perfect skater, role model and client he was, Victor always stayed true to his word and obligations — as long as someone was there to remind him that he had promised to do so. Every year, this took the form in ice shows he was either “invited” to take part in, sponsorship meetings as well as tours with the Russian Federation. And this year, there was even a choreography job he had forgotten he had promised the current Junior World Champion.

Yuri Plisetsky was Victor’s rinkmate under Coach Yakov, but was also a spitfire who would prove to be a force to be reckoned with long after Victor was gone. But until then, he was just a little Russian punk.

However, Victor was a man of his word, even though he might not have remembered the promise. That promise was to choreograph a program for Yuri if he managed to win Worlds without doing a quad.

So Victor had to work. Originally, he had been toying with two different programs ideas which Victor couldn’t really decide between. They were complimentary programs, done to different arrangements of the same music. On Love: Agape and On Love: Eros.  

Agape was the form of pure, innocent, familial and happy love that could be felt between a man and his dog, two friends, or a young boy and his grandfather. Then, there was Eros. Eros was the sexual form of love, which showcased the feelings of passion and spontaneity.

While yes, Victor had choreographed and felt musically connected to both programs, he had originally intended on performing Agape. However, once the 15-year-old blond had approached him… Victor knew he could not give a program such as “Eros” to the young boy. Yuri instead got Agape, much to the teen’s dismay. However Victor fervently believed that if he himself could perform that program, so could Yuri. He just needed to find his own Agape.

Victor had even been so kind as to offer up some of his old costumes to the teen. While the white, mesh and rhinestoned jumpsuit isn’t what Victor had imagined, the image fit not only the song but Yuri’s personality. So he approved.

However the time and care that Victor had taken with his younger rinkmate had left Victor little time to prepare himself. Victor would of course be fine. However most of his preparation would come right down to the wire.

Luckily, he had been working on his Free Skate for a fair amount of time as well.

Earlier that year, a new musical entitled “Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812” had premiered in London, and was an adaptation of Leo Tolstoy’s _War and Peace_. Victor had always been a sucker for cultural programs, and a program from a musical based on a Russian novel about Napoleon’s invasion of Russia would be perfect.

So Victor pulled a few strings, which he was lucky to have as an international celebrity, and he was able to contact the creator and composer — David Malloy. Together, they agreed that an unused song from the Off-Broadway version, which was still being perfected for his Broadway run, would be the best fit for not only a Free Skate, but for Victor.

The song was entitled “Dust and Ashes”, and was sung by the lead “Pierre” about his thoughts of life and death in regards to duel which he had won only due to his opponent’s negligence. It seemed too true to Victor’s own reality, but somehow fate had given him such an emotionally driven and charged program to skate — even before he realized how close to home the lyrics hit. But even aside from the incredibly emotional and raw performance aspect, Victor knew the song had the quality of an incredible Free Skate. There were crescendos, tempo changes, and phrases in the music that were practically built for spin combinations and jumping passes.

While Victor had spent most of his free time at the rink and during ice shows choreographing, his program package was not complete until late September. It wasn’t until then, that Victor could finally afford a week-long trip to France, where he could meet with his costume designer and the producer who was producing all of his tracks. The trip was rather uneventful, and Victor walked out of each meeting successful, and with a new component to check off his list.

But as he was returning to his hotel after his final fitting, Victor suddenly burst into a coughing fit. While this was still a rather normal occurrence, even on the suppressants, what was off was the fact that Victor had taken his dose less than two hours prior.

He holed himself up in the bathroom of his suite, until finally he could breathe again after an agonizing attack where he had definitely felt at least 3 or 4 full flowers come up. Except when he looked down onto the counter to see the damage, Victor felt a cold chill run through his body as he saw a third growth fully bloomed in the middle of the sink. _A purple tulip._

Victor soon found himself in a taxi, on the way to an emergency doctor’s appointment. While Victor still knew very little about the disease that was slowly killing him, he _knew_ that three growths over 6 months was _not_ normal. The picture of the deep, purple rose was still mocking him every time he closed his eyes. Unable to get the color that symbolized “fame” and “royalty” out of his mind — those were all words that were associated with the media’s _perfect_ image of Victor Nikiforov. But those words couldn’t be farther from what Victor felt he truly was.

“A declaration of love” was another meaning to the flower, and was a laughable concept to Victor, as he had neglected that “L word” for 20 long years. Now, it began to truly feel like he was going to end up dying that way as well. 

While going to the doctor was helpful in order to refill his suppressant prescription that he needed in order to keep his cover during the competition season… Victor hadn’t anticipated a lecture. 

The doctor tried to warn and educate Victor about the dangers of “suppressant abuse”, and how it can shorten a Hanahaki patient’s lifespan by over half. And even more so, how suppressants should _only_ be used in emergency situations. Especially since Victor was already beginning to show the early signs of suppressant rejection and aggravated Hanahaki attacks.

Throughout the entire appointment, Victor maintained his perfect mask with a gentle, _fake_ smile that he knew could get him out of anything.

 

+++++++++

 

Skate Canada had gone exactly as Victor had anticipated. All 3 of his programs — including Yuri’s Agape — has passed the judges’ tests with flying marks. His costumes fit perfectly, and he could hear the collective gasp that overtook the entire arena when he took the ice for the first time in his “Eros” costume.

But still, something had been off the entire competition. While Victor had never really been known for his stamina… competing and doing full run-throughs had proven harder than it had ever been before he had been diagnosed with Hanahaki. The pain and struggle was even more evident now than over the summer while Victor had toured with ice shows, or practiced his routines.  

Now that he was in the third stage… Victor could feel the Hanahaki beginning to take its toll.

 

+++++++++

 

Victor Nikiforov had never paid any attention to who he was going to be competing against — and the Rostelecom Cup was no different. It was a habit he had broken himself of early in his senior career. Even the best skaters could get intimidated by seeing a line up of who his competition was, so Victor had never given into the temptation to look. Although, now it was more out of sheer apathy than trying to protect himself from potential anxiety

But because he hadn’t looked at the assignment lists… Victor hasn’t realized **what** he would be up against.

Victor felt an involuntary gasp course through his chest, which caused a small tickle to threaten his whole body with a coughing fit when he laid eyes on **him** from across the hotel lobby.

Yuuri Katsuki.

The man who Victor had not seen since the Grand Prix Final banquet in Sochi — where Victor had been left and abandoned after falling hopelessly and painfully in love with a man who wouldn’t even acknowledge his existence.

If there was one thing Victor had not prepared for — it was his heart being reminded of the time it had been torn to pieces. Which combined with the already painful feeling of his lungs doing the same, it would combine to be a truly unbearable competition.

When Victor finally made it back up to his hotel room, he let his mind wander to the man down in the lobby.

For the first time in his adult life, Victor Nikiforov had experienced what love was. Of course, he never imagined he would find it in the form of a drunk, curvy, bewitching Japanese man — but he couldn’t have imagined it in a more perfect way.

Years had gone by since the last time Victor had enjoyed a gala or banquet. Sure, every year the host country had always tried to one up the last country, and make the event more fun for the skaters. But every year, Victor found nothing any more interesting than the 10th sponsor who had given him their card during the event. Which was, needless to say, like watching paint dry.

He had no real taste for fancy parties with champagne, hors d'oeuvres, evening attire and endless small talk. Even though he was labeled by the media as a “playboy extraordinaire”, Victor was not one for these stuffy events where he had to be the perfect “Victor Nikiforov” and wear his mask.

But that was until he laid eyes on the most magnificent man he had ever _seen_. He was moving on the dance floor with such grace and fluidity, that Victor couldn’t believe he wasn’t on skates. That was when Yuuri Katsuki first caught Victor’s eye.

Despite the drunken flush that covered his face, and the tie that had made its way around his head, Victor could still make out every individual detail on his perfect face — even if he had been staring from across the room. Much to his surprise, Victor had been lucky enough to be dragged into the so-called dance contest, that had apparently been formed as a way to determine “who was the better Yuri”, between him and the Junior champion.

It was fascinating to see him move and glide, and even more so as the Japanese man inched closer and closer towards Victor, which warmed him more than any alcohol could. Every move entranced Victor, and he honestly couldn’t keep up with the moves that Yuuri was coming up with despite what Victor could only guess was through a haze of a lot of alcohol.

Then Chris came over, and decided to put on a _real_ show. The Swiss man issued another challenge to the Japanese angel who Victor had been basking in the glow of. But much to Victor’s surprise, that challenge didn’t go unanswered. In fact, it seemed Yuuri was not only more talented than Victor could have ever dreamed — but he was also full of surprises. Without a second thought, Yuuri stripped down to a tight pair of boxer-brief shorts, and began to climb the pole that Chris had centered in the middle of the dance floor.

The two oozed sex appeal and drew every eye to them as the competition and the tension became so thick you could cut through the air with a knife. But even though Victor knew how attractive and talented his best friend could be when he unleashed his true talents… he couldn’t take his eyes off of the very flexible and _very naked_ Japanese man.

Every move, every extension of his legs, every death drop and twirl on the pole entranced Victor — and he didn’t want the spell to be broken. For the first time in Victor didn’t know _how_ long, he could actually feel his heart racing for something other than the thrill of performing on the ice.

But it wasn’t until an event official came to break up the competition and urge the two scantily clad men to put on a few more articles of clothing, that Victor’s fate was sealed.

It had been a very enjoyable show, and he was honestly counting his blessings that he could experience it live. As he took another sip from the champagne flute in his hand, Victor could hear a slurred and heavily accented: “Biiiiictoruuuuuuuuu” from behind him. And when he turned around, he felt his heart flutter back to life.

Somehow, the messily clothed and slightly-haggard looking Yuuri Katsuki in front of him — whose shirt was almost entirely unbuttoned and with a crooked sport coat barely hanging off of his shoulders. Who was looking at Victor with what could only be described as ‘come hither eyes’ and a glossy pout…. Was the most beautiful sight Victor had ever laid his eyes on. And what Victor wouldn’t give to hear his name come out of those lips every day for the rest of his damn life.

As Yuuri dragged him into the dance floor, his warm and calloused hand fitting perfectly in Victor’s own, he could not have imagined a more perfect night. Their bodies were perfectly in sync, Victor feeling the ever bubbling threat of a challenge to one up the beautiful man who he was dancing for, but in a refreshing sense that competition hadn’t made him feel in years. He hadn’t even realized how much time had passed, or how long they had been dancing for — but Victor didn’t want it to stop.

That night, no mask had been strong or permanent enough to hide Victor’s incredibly true and warm smile from his face as he basked in the light that was Yuuri Katsuki.  

While the two had competed against each other many a time, Victor had not paid much attention to the man until this year’s Grand Prix Final. However, it had previously been on account of the Japanese man always seemingly disappearing whenever Victor had entered a room. But now, Victor felt an unmistakable pull and and racing of his heart that truly made him feel truly _alive_ for the first time in his 27 year life.

As the night drew to a close, and Yuuri clung to him for dear life, Victor could still not take his eyes off of him. He didn’t even try to fight the smile that was shining bright on his own face; no mask, no fake media smile. It was 100%, all-natural Victor Nikiforov  — and the high he felt nearly made Victor take Yuuri up on his offer to try his family’s hot spring back in Japan. But that would have to wait for another time, when neither had an entire figure skating season to worry about. And so Victor reluctantly went back to his hotel after leaving a chaste kiss on the Japanese man’s cheek.  

The events of that night would later become the inspiration for Victor’s Eros program and choreography. 

Early the next morning, as most of the skaters and members of the media began to check out of the official hotel, Victor felt his heart race as he laid eyes on the gorgeous Japanese man who he had danced the night away with less than 12 hours prior.

Victor could barely even remember to keep his expressions in check. But it was so hard when he laid eyes on Yuuri, who was no longer clad in a suit, with his hair slicked back. No, this Yuuri — in glasses, with fluffy hair that was just asking for Victor to run his hands through —  was far more adorable than he could have ever hoped.

But all those hopes were soon dashed after his single request for a “Photo?” had been ignored without a single word.

Victor waited until after he had won his umpteenth Russian National Championship, but still nothing. He had waited for the results of Four Continents, but it proved just as fruitless. Europeans came and went along with another gold to add to his collection. But even at worlds… there was no sign of Yuuri Katsuki.

Victor waited month after month, ice show after ice show, and still — nothing. Until Victor finally resigned himself to the fact that Yuuri, just like the rest of the world didn’t want _Victor Nikiforov._

They all wanted the “star skater” and the “champion”. But the second that the real Victor came out, it apparently took glass on glass on glass of alcohol to make him even tolerable. And even then — it still wasn’t enough.  

This was the last thing Victor needed during his time in Moscow. He had come here to do a job and to get a medal, not to cry over loves lost and what if’s. Yuuri Katsuki was a painful reminder of the Life and Love he would never have.

For the rest of the competition, Victor had stayed mainly to himself. Practically quarantining himself in order to prevent any distractions or surprises that would either cost him his medal, or his secrecy. He didn’t know if his heart or his Hanahaki could take another chance encounter with the Japanese man.

Despite everything, Victor still won the Rostelecom Cup.  

His suppressants, while they hadn't been lasting _as_ long as they should be for their strength, had still managed to block out most of his symptoms for the entire competition. At least until the medal ceremony.  

Victor skated around the Megasport Arena, a venue he was all too familiar with, for his victory lap. He carried the stupid black box with a cheap watch inside that he would never wear… the russian flag hanging over his back in a bitter ironic show of how quickly he would be turned away from his own country just for his disease… the heavy weight of the small gold medal on his chest… and the bouquet — a  beautiful but painful reminder of the flowers that were about to take away his entire livelihood…

That's when Victor felt it. 

This time, Victor _knew_ something was wrong. The way it felt like his stomach was tearing itself apart. The cold sweat that suddenly covered his entire body and got worse with every shiver. The pooling nausea and bile that made Victor want to fall over in pain from. The dizziness. And most of all, his inability to breath. He had to get out of there.

Victor had only made it a little more than halfway around the victory lap when it hit. His smile was still plastered on his face, and the flag on his back still waving in bitter propaganda and irony as he began to skate faster. Behind the mask, his mind began _racing_ and the only thing he could feel was his own nails cutting into his palm as he gripped the bouquet in his hand for dear life, crushing it in a sad attempt to divert his pain. 

Finally through gritted teeth, Victor got to the gate, turned back to the audience one more time to give a “proper champion’s thank you” wave, before immediately running to the locker room. There wasn’t time to worry about appearances anymore, or what a camera might catch. All he knew is he couldn't break down _here._

That was how Victor had found himself sobbing and coughing up blood in a bleak Russian locker room, gripping the counter for dear life… and staring down into the sink and at his fourth Hanahaki growth in 8 short months. He had just entered Stage IV of Hanahaki Disease.

 

+++++++++

 

In between the Rostelecom Cup and the Grand Prix Final, Victor had just around 2 weeks to prepare. Or in his case, to take a last minute trip to London.

Why London? Because he needed some alterations made, and he had another meeting with the composer... Right?

Well, that was at least Victor’s cover story. Even if it was as weak an excuse as he had ever heard, it would at least buy him the time to go see a _real_ doctor. He needed answers

On his way back from Moscow, Victor decided to change his flight to take a “necessary detour” to do some last minute preparations. Up until now, Victor had been ordering his prescriptions online, and had them shipped to his apartment. It was lucky that he had found a website with discreet shipping, because otherwise his shipments could have been detained and he could have been found out.

Although Victor had done as much research as he could, he had avoided doctors at all costs. Except for the last time he went to France.

Now in London, Victor stood face to face with a baffled but grim doctor.

“Victor. You NEED to stop taking these suppressants. They aren’t working anymore. All they are doing is killing you — AND your soulmate... They will die when you die Victor — this isn’t just your life anymore. I know you think you did what you had to do, and I know that Russia has a terrible and deadly policy on Hanahaki coverage… but now… Whatever your potential life span _was_ before, you’ve probably cut it in HALF. Surely _someone_ must have warned you about the risk of abusing suppressants —“ The doctor reprimanded him in a restrained tone.

“I know. I’ve got it. Thank you. I will take care of myself, Doctor.” Victor said as he grabbed the small brown bag that contained his refilled prescription, and he got up and left.

With one night left in London, he heads back to the hotel to immediately log onto the internet and order 2 more types of suppressants right to his door. If this formula has stopped working, one of the other two types should at least stop his growths until after the Grand Prix Final... he could deal with everything else after....

 

+++++++++

 

The Grand Prix Final was a short, less-than two week break later. Victor found himself gazing out over the dark and sparkling Barcelona skyline, as he felt his body numb in the cold pool water that Victor had foolishly decided to enter in the middle of December. Turns out even in Spain, the weather got cold in the winter.  

Victor had come up to this pool to get away from everything — and everybody.

He had been to Barcelona countless times, whether for skating or for pleasure. While sure, it was a pretty city, there was nothing to see or do  that Victor hadn’t already seen or done. If the Euro had been weaker, maybe he could have gone shopping. But even then, it's not like any of it would matter. Buying meaningless items and designer clothes would give him no joy. 

If he could have chosen the venue for the Grand Prix Final, Victor surely would have picked somewhere new and interesting. Somewhere he could go explore nature, see monuments and landmarks that he never had before. Honestly, all he wanted to do was just stay in his own hotel room and sleep. Victor had been so exhausted, and was being constantly pushed to the point of breaking — whether in his training or with the state of his health.

In life, people need vacations where they can be themselves, away from their hectic everyday lives. When Victor could finally step away from skating, even for as brief a time as this, he always ended up thinking about two “L words”. Life and Love.

He had neglected both for over twenty years And sadly, time was running out for him to focus much on either. Regret flowed through his body with the chill of the water surrounding him, and dread made him shiver just as much as the cbrisk wind that roared through the sky and around the hotel’s roof.

Even though this would probably be the last figure skating competition of his career and his life… Victor still couldn’t bring himself to do those trivial things that could have helped him love and live again. Things he took for granted when he had all the time in the world.

Still, the nagging feeling of guilt and regret wasn’t strong enough to pull Victor out on the town and to live his life. All he wanted to do was be alone.

“I thought, other than me, only a Russian would be stupid enough to get in the pool this time of year. I guess I was right”

Victor turned his head from looking out over the edge of the roof, to see a blond Swiss man, who was barely even wearing what could be considered a robe, and carrying a bottle of champagne and a flute. The smug looking skater, who was wearing sunglasses for some god forsaken reason, towered over Victor from the side of the pool,

“Chris!”

“Hi, Victor!” Chris said as a warm smile began to change from the sly smirk he had been wearing earlier. “And here I was hoping to go skinny dipping.”

Victor genuinely laughed, “Don’t let me stop you. I’ll even take photos for you.” Although he had come up to the pool to be alone, he was relieved to see his long-time friend. He had first met Christophe at the European Championships, long ago when the sex-god was as pure and innocent as a little boy running through the Swiss meadows. Since then, they had shared many a podium together, from Grand Prix FInals, Europeans and even the World Championships.

With all of the older skaters that had steadily retired, or left the sport due to a Hanahaki diagnosis… Chris had been one of the only constants and high points throughout his career. Victor couldn’t imagine a skating season without him, and it was fitting to end his career competing with him too.

“Victor, I can’t believe it’s just us now… It’s getting lonely being so old, compared to all of these young kids… and I’m only 25!” Chris wailed dramatically with a pout.

The rest of the night had been filled with surprisingly fun and stress free shenanigans. It was refreshing to just enjoy the ridiculousness that always ensued when they got together. From posing together in their speedos, and posting the thirst traps to instagram, to having a full oh photoshoot… Victor really had fun. And for the first time in months, Victor’s mind hadn’t been consumed with either the thoughts of skating or dying. It was just like old times.

But soon, the fun came to a sudden screeching halt, when Victor felt the telltale tickle in his throat.  

Victor suddenly shot up and turned to Chris as calmly as he possibly could, through the gritted teeth and cracking mask. “Hey, it’s getting late Chris… what do you say we turn in for the night?” 

Chris nods with a smile, that seemed to hold an edge of wariness, despite the warmth that came from his eyes. “Sure.”

The two walked together down from the roof, and down to their shared floor. It seemed like most of the male athletes had all ended up on the same floor, so it was still a while before they parted ways.

Suddenly, just before they got to the hallway where Victor’s room was, Chris turned around with an uncharacteristically serious face.

”Victor... are you... alright...? Have you... lost some weight...?”

The question immediately threw Victor off guard, and he quickly pulled on his mask. “Of course I’m alright, Chris. It’s probably just the cold and the speedo that made me look smaller and thinner... oh what a problem to have, right?” He finished in a faux-joking manner, trying to liven the mood and _end_ the dangerous path this conversation was going down.

Chris wasn’t buying any of it. However, just as he grabbed Victor’s unnaturally bony shoulder that was in stark contrast to his normally toned and muscled physique, Victor began coughing like a mad man.

Immediately, Chris grabbed the room key that had been in Victor’s hand, and quickly guided him inside the room and onto his bed. As soon as Victor was seated, Chris turned to go into the attached kitchen, and pour his friend a glass of water to maybe ease the pain of whatever was the source of that coughing fit.

However, as Chris was about to turn off the faucet, his whole body went pale as a horrible _retching_ sound made its way to his ears. But when he looked back towards the bed, what he saw was something far worse than that sound had been.

His free hand flew to his mouth as he laid eyes on a small, thin, shaking Victor staring at a small stain on the white duvet. A stain, which looked to primarily be comprised of blood and bile, with luckily very little food that had regurgitated itself. But instead in its place… were a few scattered flower petals of varying colors and sizes. 

Luckily for Victor, it was a very small attack that only resulted in a few petals. No stems or full blooms, and his chest felt surprisingly clear for being in his fourth stage. When it was no longer excruciatingly painful to breathe, Victor wiped his mouth, sure that there was some unidentified liquid there to make him look Even more pitiful than he already did. But he couldn’t even look up and meet Chris’ eyes.

It was incredibly difficult for Chris not to lose his shit, and keep his composure. So he ran over, and forcibly turned the silver-haired man’s chin and made him look directly into his tear-filled eyes.

“Victor....” Chris said through gritted teeth. Still in shock and trying to process what the HELL could possibly be going through Victor’s mind. “How... how long..”

The man in question just shifted away from the touch and scrutiny he was under. That was _obviously_ not the response Chris was looking for. He immediately grabbed both of Victor’s shoulders and tried to shake some sense into him as the tears began to betray him and stream down his cheeks.  

“VITYA, I ASKED YOU — HOW _LONG_ HAS IT _BEEN_ LIKE **THIS**?!?!!??!?”

Chris then forced himself to let go of his friend’s shoulders, and look down at the offending petals on the bed spread. His green eyes widened as he took in the different designs and colors, and counted….

While he couldn’t be _sure_ on first glance… and that even though some of them were similar colors... Chris could still make out 4 distinct types of petals.

Without another word, Chris scooped up the petals, and turned back toward the kitchen. It was probably because he didn’t have enough strength to keep it together, and he couldn’t just break down crying right there.

He shakily placed the petals on a paper towel so that they wouldn’t wilt, and he quickly wet a warm and clean towel to try and clean Victor up if he could. Then he grabbed the glass he had left on the counter in his panic, and brought it back to the bed.

Then Chris took a good, long look at Victor — and really saw just how frail and pale he had become. And that was _definitely_ not just from swimming in Barcelona at night in December.

Chris’ voice came out little more than a terrified whisper. “Victor.... this is... you’re —“

“I know Chris.” Victor said, with a quick punctuation of a few lingering coughs.  But unlike before, these weak coughs were obviously signs of the effects the disease had on his body.

“You can’t compete like this. You are **going** to kill yourself…”

He turns his head up towards Chris with the most panicked and frightened face that the Swiss man had ever seen in his life. It sent fear coursing through his whole body as Victor practically screamed.

 **“I AM ALREADY** **_DYING_ ** **CHRIS.”**  Victor practically screamed. It was obvious how terrified Victor was, as he struggled to regain his breath with how much his body was shaking in fear and anxiety. Finally, after a few moments, he closed his eyes and averted his face from the judgement and betrayal that was sure to have painted Chris’ face.

With a sigh, Victor continued. “... but It’s too late for that now. What’s done is done. I might as well go out on my own terms. It was either _this —_ ” Victor gestured first to himself, and then to the flowers “— or retire and flee Russia. You’ve heard the stories. You _know_ how the Russian government and media treats people with this disease.”

Victor started coughing again for a little bit more, this time managing to cough up another petal or two. Then he looked back at Chris with a face that screamed utter death.

His sunken-in eyes glazed over and the sclera’s were almost yellow and jaundiced in color. Naturally strong cheekbones were so much more pronounced and sharp than they’d ever been appeared before.

And for the first time that Chris had ever really been able to tell, Victor not only looked his age. He looked _old_.

Not just because of his silvery-grey hair, but because of the lack of shine and energy and life. Because of the small wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes and his mouth. Because of the look in his eyes that looked like they were ready for death.

Victor let out what almost sounded like a laugh, but was actually just a shaky and self-deprecating huff/exasperated sigh at how _stupid_ he was. And how _miserable_ this whole situation was.

Before Chris could respond, Victor shook his head. “At least this way, I can go out a hero. No matter what happens this weekend... my name will be in the record books forever. And hopefully, if _some_ merciful god can at least listen to my one wish... maybe THIS will finally cause some change in Russia. If their so-called “hero” and “star” dies of a ridiculed disease that is touted by the government as _fake_...” he said with disgust.

“And who is more than likely soulmate-bound to another man... which is also _illegal,_ by the way...” he laughed and said it as an almost sarcastic aside, even though he knew far to well how true those words were. It was almost like the cherry on top of his own frosted coffin. “Maybe this way, I can finally make a difference with something other than being pretty and jumping...”

By that point, Chris was _sobbing_ . Victor was one of his best friends — and he can’t just watch him _die_. Even through his tears, Chris grabbed Victor’s shoulders, and once again made him look directly into his eyes.  

“Vitya — you don’t have to do this! Do you understand your position?! You’re literally an international celebrity, you can hold a press conference, make an announcement, SOMETHING. There’s gotta be another option besides just quietly mulling before you suddenly DIE! You can’t just —“

“Chris,  please...” Victor couldn’t even finish his plea before his breath caught at the sound of Chris’ restrained sobs and heavy breathing. This was worse than the pain of coughing, worse than the pain of dying — this was the excruciating pain that Victor now has to deal with because of how many people he was hurting because of his inane decision.

 “I-I’m fine Chris… Trust me. This is just until the season is done. I promise I’ll _look_ when after the Grand Prix Final… Please just...” he struggled to finish his plea to Chris.

Chris looked at Victor — who was desperate and emotional. His own bright turquoise green eyes were probably even brighter due to the redness surrounding them that would follow all of his falling tears. Then Chris looked into Victor’s own sallow, but still bright blue eyes. Which were still filled with tears and trembling.

“Please just... help me.” Victor took in a trembling breath to steel his conviction. “By keeping this a secret. That’s _all_ I want. Just… _please_.”

All Chris could do was let out an aggravated sigh, and angrily wipe his soaked cheeks and eyes with the towel that he had wrapped around his waist. He then gave Victor the angriest, most pissed-off glare he could manage behind his still flowing tears.

“Victor Nikiforov, I swear to **_god_ ** , you are my best friend and I will _not_ just let you DIE like this!” He then pushed himself off the bed in a pseudo-dramatic manner, that was more or less an attempt to punctuate his seething rage at his friend’s stupid decision.

He started walking towards the door, leaving the shivering and frail Victor on his bed all alone. Then as his pace slowed, he turned around and looked back towards the bed with a surprisingly gentle and sympathetic look on his face and sighed. “.... but I will honor your wishes...” Chris then held up a finger as if to say he had one condition. “— until the Grand Prix Final is over. Then, I **swear** , if you are somehow still alive and kicking, I will personally drag your ass to as many reporters as it takes for you to make an announcement so you can at least TRY and save your own life.”

Chris turned back around to walk toward the door, but stopped once more in the doorway before he exited, although not turning around.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, _I_ have a competition tomorrow, and I think I need to get some rest after the years you just took off of my life...”

The stubborn Swiss man almost walked back out again, but stopped again. “Oh, and Vitya....?” He turned his head over his shoulder to give Victor a small smile and nod of encouragement. “Good luck tomorrow.”

Victor laid, motionless in his bed. Numb and confused and exhausted and just _ugh_ . Finally, after eons of wallowing in self-pity and intrusive, circular thoughts about his situation, Victor got up. He headed to the bathroom, so he could get ready for bed, get ready for his _last_ Grand Prix Final — and get ready for the last skating competition of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops


	7. “New Opportunities, New Possibilities”

# Chapter 7

### Blue Rose — “New Opportunities, New Possibilities”

  
Yuuri woke up surrounded in crisp, white, hotel pillows and the overly fluffy comforter which covered the top of him. Even though he was warm and had been sleeping for god knows how long to throw off the jet lag, the blankets and thin, layered cotton sheets were still cool around them. It was the type of feeling, which, coupled with the groggy exhaustion that comes from travel, made Yuuri want to fall right back asleep. 

Begrudgingly, he forced his eyes to flutter open — the room was dim and slightly dark, but he couldn’t tell if it was from the curtains or time of day he had awoken to. Yuuri groaned and rubbed at his eyes, because there was no way that if it was even  _ close  _ to being dark out, he could afford to fall back asleep. He then reached over to the bedside table to grab both his glasses and his phone, all the while still refusing to sit up fully. 

5 p.m. was what his too-bright phone screen told him the time was when it lit up, and blinded him more than he already had been. With a sigh, Yuuri pushed himself up to a seated position so he could finally work up the strength to actually be productive. But instead of energy and motivation, Yuuri was met with a brick wall of a headache, which consequently threw him into a tiny fit of dry coughs. 

With a pained and weak groan, he held his head head in his hands and brushed his bed-styled hair back. 

Ugh. Hanahaki and jetlag are bitches. 

Slowly, Yuuri got himself up and he walked over toward the large window on the other side of his bed which was covered by stiff, brocade curtains. He pulled open the curtains to reveal the newly-darkened horizon and skyline of Barcelona. The structures and buildings were glittering as people began to turn on their lights, which contrasted beautifully with the churches and monuments that were visible in the distance.  

A few more coughs forced themselves out of Yuuri’s chest and reignited the small headache that was panging through his head. Sadly, that was why Yuuri had decided to abstain from the morning practice and from an afternoon of sightseeing with Phichit. 

Yuuri could feel it — he was growing weaker by the day. In the two weeks leading up to his flight to Barcelona, he had noticed the sharp decline of his stamina and strength. Even cold temperature had begun to bother him like it never had before, especially not after living in Detroit and inside an ice rink for so long. 

While nobody had mentioned it to him, Yuuri knew he had begun to look a little… thin. It was ironic how the weight seemed to come off so easily for the first time, after having struggled with it for most of his life. Sure, he didn’t have bones sticking out or anything, but his clothes had started to loosen… and there were a few days where Yuuri couldn’t even recognize himself as he walked past a mirror. 

Even now, as Yuuri could see his blurry reflection in the window, and in the smaller mirror on the far wall, he could hardly even stand to look at himself. 

Luckily, to most everyone else, Yuuri just looked  _ tired _ . And god, was he; but it hurt for Yuuri to look because he knew what was really behind his haggard appearance. He had to live through it and be reminded of the reason every day. 

It had gotten so bad, that even just moving around the hotel room to barely stretch or walk a few feet felt like a strain on his body. Every inch he moved, every extension of a finger or a toe felt like his body was a creaking, rusted door in major need of some oil. He couldn’t even keep his engine turned on for too long, because if he went too hard at practice or took too many jumps, he would either be on the verge of passing out, or would push himself into a minor coughing/Hanahaki fit. 

Since it was still the early evening, it made sense that the other double bed in the hotel suite was vacant. Phichit had probably been shopping or trying to find cute instagrammable spots to upload for the next few weeks. Yuuri had wanted to join him, but he knew that if there was any chance he was going to make it through the weekend, he was going to need every hour of sleep he could get. 

But, Yuuri wasn’t going to miss out on what could possibly be the last time he ever got to live and compete with his best friend. Luckily he could still meet Phichit at La Sagrada Familia or somewhere else to catch the tail-end of his sightseeing. It had always been a tradition for them, and like hell Yuuri would miss that for a few measly hours of sleep. 

Plus it would give Yuuri a chance to try and take his mind off of everything. Especially as his time began to whittle down and the stress began to rise. So many deadlines and lasts and hypotheticals would run through Yuuri’s mind at any free moment, which meant it was usually far better to try and find a distraction than to dwell. 

Yuuri was heading back to Hatsetsu after the Grand Prix Final. Over the last two weeks, Yuuri had begun packing everything in Detroit so he could spend his remaining time at home. All these preparations included not only packing the apartment and unloading his storage until, and packaging it so he could mail it home… but saying his goodbyes. He had to pack up his _life_ , so that if he never returned, he wouldn’t leave any loose ends.  

Each goodbye that wasn’t entirely truthful made Yuuri want to cry. But he had to stay strong, and had to smile even though the bittersweet misery was flooding behind every “Don’t worry, I’ll see you next time I visit” and every “See you later”. Still, it was better to say goodbye and omit the reason than to have to suffer through each emotional and  _ final  _ goodbye. 

What was even tougher than the goodbyes was trying to soldier on through practice. Ciao Ciao had already limited his on-ice hours and the number of jumps he was allowed to do, but Yuuri found it almost impossible to make it through those ‘easy’ practices now. He couldn’t even  _ remember _ the last time he had made it through a 1-2 hour practice without having to end early because of a Hanahaki fit. 

It was infuriating, but Yuuri knew his limits. But, he made it to the Grand Prix final, so it had worth it. It hadn’t even killed him yet.

Now all that was left to do was  _ try _ . Then, he could begin his search for his soulmate.

+++++++++

Around 6:30, Yuuri found himself waking in the bustling streets of Barcelona to meet Phichit. It wasn’t hard to find him, even among all the tourists and commotion. He _was_ one of the only people that still used a selfie stick. But, Yuuri was just glad he hadn’t had to walk too far, because he was embarrassingly already winded.   

Still, like any trip the two had been on together over the years, Yuuri knew it was going to be a memory he would always cherish. Whether they didn’t do anything other than walk and people watch, or if they went to some touristy monument  or museum, or just spent the whole day shopping… Yuuri knew he had made the right choice in prioritizing his time with Phichit. 

The two ended up going to La Sagrada Familia, and taking  _ several _ photos. Mostly, because Phichit wanted to make sure he got the best and “most complete” picture of the unfinished chapel to post. But even more so, because he realized there was still some scaffolding and construction visible in the first few he took. 

Yuuri never minded playing “Phichit’s personal photographer”, because it obviously made the Thai boy happy. Plus, Yuuri found out early on in their friendship, that if he offered to take the photos, there would be less stares from the sudden selfie sticks, less complaining about angles from Phichit, and less nagging of Yuuri to join in the photos. 

After that, Phichit and Yuuri continued walking until they found a small outdoor Christmas market. It was very quaint and festively decorated, and there were so many smells assaulting Yuuri’s senses that made him hungry for Christmas treats and street food. Neither Phichit or Yuuri bought much other than some small souvenirs for back home, but neither would really have much money to spend unless they medaled at the Final. 

Just when the pair was about to keep walking to see if there was anything else to see, the Thai boy’s phone began buzzing and chirping. Phichit quickly picked up and started practically oozing with excitement as he began joking with whoever was on the other side of the call. 

Based on the saccharine and flirty tone of his voice, Yuuri could only assume it was Chris on the other end. Even though Yuuri loved both of his friends, he sometimes wished they had never met because together… they were a  _ lot _ … and half the time Yuuri couldn’t tell if they were just peacocking and talking a big game with all their flirting, or if they were actually playing a game of cat and mouse that would result in them getting together in the end.

Dealing with their sexual overtones was a chore and a half.  Having to hear Phichit say that he was in the mood for some “Swiss chocolate”, or how Chris’ “specialty was cheese, but he was craving another hole” was expected. But when Phichit began talking about wanting to climb “the Swiss Alps” Yuuri knew he had to shut that down.

With a very unsubtle clearing of his throat, Yuuri finally managed to get Phichit’s attention. The Thai boy turned to look at Yuuri with a slightly embarrassed chuckle, but he definitely didn't look ashamed. 

“Oops, my bad Yuuri, I almost forgot you were there… just give me a second!” Phichit explained before he continued back into his phone.

After a few moments, Phichit turned back to Yuuri with a warm and excited smile. “Chris asked if we wanted to all go out to dinner! He said ‘the more, the merrier’, so  _ of course _ you’re invited. I told him that Ciao Ciao was already back at the hotel, but that I was sure we would both love to go! You in?”

Yuuri just gave a small, exasperated laugh and nodded. Who was he to say no?

It only took a few minutes to reach the restaurant, but when they walked up, Yuuri immediately recognized the two women who were creepily peering in through the window with their faces pressed against it.

“Mari-neechan….? Minako-sensei…? What are you —“

The two turned around in a flash, and simultaneously grabbed Yuuri’s shoulders and shouted. “Yuuri! You’ve got to help us!”

+++++++++

_ That  _ was how Yuuri found himself seated at a table with the strangest group of people. Chris, Phichit, Mari and Minako, Yuri Plistesky and Otabek Altin — and himself. Who would have thought that all of the Grand Prix Finalists would be eating together the night before the competition? Well, at least, all but one skater who was mysteriously missing…

It was all fairly overwhelming for Yuuri, because this was so different than anything he had ever usually tried to do during competitions. Being the extreme introvert and ball of anxiety that he was, Yuuri almost never fraternized with anyone besides Ciao Ciao and Phichit, or any of his other rinkmates before a competition as big as this. But, it honestly wasn’t uncomfortable, much to his surprise. 

Even though Phichit, Chris and the little Yuri were all huge personalities, it didn’t really feel any different than if he were at a table with old friends reconvening and taking playful jabs at each other. Mari and Minako had been surprisingly well behaved compared to their previous behavior outside the restaurant, but Yuuri was happy that they were behaving like adults. Plus, it was nice to have them there beside him, especially for his last skating competition.

Surprisingly, even Otabek was a welcomed presence to Yuuri, even though he had never really ever had a conversation with the stoic Kazakh before. Sure, he had seen him at Four Continents, but like Yuuri, he usually kept to himself and tried to focus on skating. That always seemed to really work for Otabek and help him be successful, unlike Yuuri who would start flailing at the slightest inconvenience or distraction. But still, it was nice seeing that the 18-year-old was a normal guy just like them. Perhaps even a normal guy who had a small sense of humor — especially when it came to the little Russian. 

Overall, the night went by pretty smoothly and the food was wonderful and warmed Yuuri up from the inside. He had ordered some sort of Spanish  _ sopa  _ that he probably intensely butchered the pronunciation of, but it had roasted peppers, garlic, Iberian pork, and numerous other spices and flavors that Yuuri couldn’t even hope to identify. It was filling, but not overly so — and it made Yuuri’s stomach happy and warm — which was a feeling he hoped stayed through the weekend of stress.

As everyone began finishing their meals, the conversation began to stir up again. Yuuri, being emboldened and strengthened by his full stomach, finally decided to join. 

“Wow, sitting here with everyone feels so different from last year’s Grand Prix Final… I couldn’t even bring myself to talk to anyone, let alone Victor —”

The sound of a shocked and disbelieving spit-take stopped Yuuri in his tracks. Which allowed the blond Yuri to immediately take over the conversation. 

“Wait you DON’T REMEMBER?!? You porky piece of shit challenged me to a dance off and it was the most  _ disgusting  _ thing I’ve ever seen. I, of course, beat you by a landslide.”  Yuri snapped with a smug yet disgusted look on his face. 

“Suuuuure you did little Yuri...” Chris chimed in with a drawl that was very sarcastic and playful

Yuri replied with a gag, “Bleh, gross! Don’t remind me of your  _ show _ you gross pervert…” he continued to cringe and tried to scoot as far away from Chris as the table would allow. 

Yuuri was terrified of everything he was hearing, because he couldn’t remember  _ any  _ of it. Phichit, however was  _ ecstatic,  _ and both shouted “Sh-Show...?!” “Show?!??!?!?” at the same time. 

“Oh Yuuuuri, I’m absolutely crushed that you don’t remember our performance....” Chris feigned innocence and being hurt, but proceeded then to pull out his phone. 

“You had mentioned something about taking pole fitness with Phichit a few times... of which I still want to know aaaaaallll about...” Chris punctuated with a wink at Phichit, who revelled in the attention. “Soooo, I suggested we test out our respective skills, since I may have also dabbled in pole dance once or twice…” 

While no one at the table was surprised that Chris would have taken that up as a hobby, the other table guests couldn’t keep their jaws shut as they stared at Yuuri. 

“It really is a great way to tone up and strengthen your thighs and abs…” Chris continued, “ and you really stole the show Yuuri,  _ I _ couldn’t even keep up! I just wish I had taken  _ more  _ pictures and video!” 

“Ooooooo!!! Let me see!!!” Phichit exclaimed as he took the offending device from Chris. “Yuuri that’s so dirty!” He said with a snicker. 

Yuuri immediately stole the phone away from his conniving roommate, and held it close so no one else could see what was on it. But as soon as he took a look at the screen, his whole face lit up brighter than the phone or any of the Christmas lights hanging outside. He didn’t even care how red his face probably was from the embarrassment, because nothing could be worse than having the whole skating world see him like they had in those pictures. 

Then he scrolled a picture or two over to try and get a better sense of what damage he had done, but instead he felt his his breath catch in his throat and his eyes go impossibly wide. 

“W-wait is that —“ Yuuri managed to stammer out before scrolling through another picture, which revealed something even more damning, and something that he thought he would never see outside of his dreams.

On the screen in his hands, was a real life picture of him and Victor Nikiforov dancing.  _ Together _ . 

They were smiling brightly and warmly as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Yuuri felt his heart beat even faster than he thought possible; even faster and more erratic than during his near-daily anxiety attacks, more rapid than when he was on the ice at a competition. 

He was overcome with emotions, and all of the commotion of the restaurant and his company began to fade away as he tried and  _ tried  _ to remember what on earth had happened on that night a year ago.  _ Apparently _ , he had danced with his idol, and by the looks of those pictures, it wasn’t just one dance.  _ Apparently,  _ unlike he had previously thought, he  _ hadn’t _ been too afraid to even talk to him; instead, he had been emboldened by the copious quantities of champagne he vaguely remembered having consumed. 

Even though that competition had been one of the worst experiences of his life, Yuuri had somehow managed to screw up and blackout during what was probably one of the greatest moments of his life. Finally, as the overwhelming waves of shame that began to wash over him and contribute to the tears that were welling up in his eyes, he began to come out of his panic and was made aware of his erratic breathing and the stares that were honing in on him from across the table.

Not only had he made a fool of himself in front of Victor on the ice, but he had scared him off by making an even bigger and drunker fool of himself at the banquet... 

“I guess this explains why he wouldn’t even look at me or go anywhere near me at the Rostelecom Cup.... I really am disgusting...” Yuuri quivered and tried to hide away from all the people around him, even though the attempts were fruitless. 

But before he could continue on his self-deprecating tirade of shame, Phichit smacked Yuuri upside the head and gave him a trademark Chulanot glare. Which, was honestly not intimidating in the slightest because of Phichit’s adorable features, but it did snap Yuuri out of it because he knew the meaning behind it. It was a look that screamed ‘No one can talk about my friend that way, so  _ stop it’ _ . Phichit then took it upon himself to try and change the conversation away from the path it was leading his best friend down. 

“Speaking of Victor, where is he??” 

Everyone at the table looked around at each other with equally confused and clueless looks on their faces. Well, everyone except for Chris — who was uncharacteristically quiet and had a slightly upset air around him.

“... Chris...?” Phichit pressed.

He simply sighed, shook his head in dismay and responded with a shrug. “I honestly don’t know... last I heard, he wasn’t feeling well so he wanted to spend as much time resting as possible." There was a small, uncomfortable pause among the group as Chris stared blankly to the side for a second in deep thought and seemingly worry, before he put on a small smile and tried to laugh it off. "Plus he’s been to Barcelona more times than any of us could count, so it’s probably a boring business trip for him anyways... “

It was obvious that Chris was uncomfortable for some unbeknownst reason as he dodged the question, but since no one could really tell  _ why _ the Swiss man seemed so stressed... they didn't press him.

The rest of the night went by rather quietly and kind of in an awkward silence as some people finished their food and others ordered dessert or a coffee.

Somehow, they had gotten on the topic of what everyone's plans were after the Grand Prix Final.

Apparently Phichit and Otabek both didn't really have to go compete at their Nationals, since they were both the only male skaters in their country who could even qualify for Four Continents or Worlds. Plus, if they ended up going back to compete anyway, they would probably just end up beating the silver medalist and any other competitors by at least 30 points. Neither of them really wanted to do that to their fellow countrymen, but Otabek said he was still planning on attending his Nationals to meet some of the other up and coming skaters — and hopefully inspire them to keep competing and improving.

Phichit sadly didn't really have that luxury since plane tickets to Thailand were so expensive and took so long, but he had already recorded some promotional material for the Figure Skating Association of Thailand, so he would still be there in spirit.

According to Chris, Swiss Nationals were usually held right around the Grand Prix Final, so he hadn't actually competed in a few years. Even though Nationals were the following week, Chris knew he was getting  _ way  _ too old for back to back competition weekends. Which Yuuri understood  _ all too well. _

That just left Yuri Plisetsky and the absent Victor, who were competing at Russian Nationals at the end of December... and Yuuri.

"Aren't Japanese Nationals held at the same time as Russian Nationals...? Where are they being held this year Yuuri?" Someone, probably Chris, innocently asked.

"Actually… I am planning on taking a break from skating after the Grand Prix Final…” Yuuri meekly replied, knowing he hadn't officially announced his retirement yet.

There was a beat of silence before there was an angry  _ screech  _ of a chair being suddenly pushed back and a  _ thump  _ of fists slamming on the table.

“What, are you planning on earning a medal here and that's it?!" Yuri blew up as his face was red with rage. "Well I’m not just going to stand by and let you do that! You’re not allowed to retire!”

Before the blond boy ran off, Yuuri could have sworn he could almost see tears welling up in the corners of his eyes, but Yuri stormed away before he could say anything.

Everyone was just left sitting at the table, stunned in silence. Sure, Yuri had a hot-headed temper, but no one had been expecting  _ that _ kind of outburst. Especially since no one else had been able to even get a word in on the surprise announcement of Yuuri's potential retirement... But now it didn't really feel appropriate since the mood was so tense. Most of all, from Yuuri.

Otabek soon stood up with a resigned sigh, and waved at everyone in a small goodbye/thanks for the company, before following after Yuri.

Yuuri still just sat there, stunned and guilty for whatever he had done to cause such an intense response from the young Yuri. All he wanted to do was apologize and tell him that this wasn't like last year... He wasn't just  _ giving up _ . He had changed. Now, he had a reason.

It's not like it was his choice to retire either. If it was, Yuuri would give anything to be able to keep skating... but it wasn’t his choice. 

Then, Yuuri felt a gentle hand on his back, and he turned to see Phichit looking at him with a sympathetic and knowing smile. It was as if he was telling Yuuri 'It's not your fault'. Sometimes it was amazing just how well Phichit knew Yuuri, and how quickly he could tell exactly what his friend needed.

There was still an awkward, pregnant silence between Chris and Phichit and Yuuri after Yuri had stormed off. Mari and Minako were in the same boat, because they knew that they had just witnessed something that they probably shouldn't have been privy to.

No one really knew what to say, because despite the earlier outburst, all three of them probably already knew this would likely be their last competition together. Even if Yuuri hadn't told them about his potential retirement... Neither Chris or Phichit knew how long it would take before they too would be forced out of competition. Would they both make it to Four Continents and Europeans? To Worlds? Would they be able to survive until the next season? The unknown future that came from the terrible, Hanahaki-filled world they lived in caused everyone on earth to live in fear that they too, would be next. But it was a reality that hit far too close to home for all of them, and created far too many bittersweet memories and lasts.

After everyone had packed all their leftovers and signed their checks, Phichit stood up with a somber smile.

"We should probably head back to the hotel... we all have a long weekend ahead of us..." To which both Chris and Yuuri agreed. 

The Thai boy went over to give Chris a warm hug, which probably lasted a titch too long, but neither complained. Yuuri followed suit, but as per usual, was a bit more stiff and awkward than his best friend. They all wished each other a heartfelt good luck, and Mari and Minako both said their goodbyes as well, before all of them headed their separate ways.

Because like it or not, they all had a job to do.

+++++++++

When Phichit and Yuuri finally got back to the hotel, Yuuri was exhausted. It wasn't even  _ that _ late, especially considering how long he had slept for when he gotten off of the plane, but walking and being around people had really drained him. Usually being an introvert could do that to him, but it wasn't usually  _ this _ bad. Damned Hanahaki.

The two then headed over to the bar where they knew Ciao Ciao would be, even if he wasn't still drinking, because he usually just liked to relax and people watch. And there was no better place to do that than a hotel bar that was within view of the lobby. 

Celestino was very much  _ not  _ drunk, which was a relief to the two boys, since they did  _ not  _ want to have to carry the large Italian man to his room. The coach greeted the two with a warm, slightly-alcohol sweetened smile and a large wave.

All 3 began heading up to their respective rooms, and discussed the schedule for the next day. Both Phichit and Yuuri knew that the next few days would be hectic  _ at best,  _ and the only way to even slightly combat the stress that was sure to follow, was to have everything as organized as possible. As they walked, they all agreed on what time they needed to be at the practice rink for their official practice, when they needed to be there for the draw, and when was the last possible time they could be in the hotel before they were stuck at the competition arena until the Short Program and press conferences were over.

Just as Phichit and Yuuri were trying to coordinate their respective alarms and reminders on their phones, they had reached the hallway where their shared room was. When Yuuri looked up to see Phichit digging for his room key, he felt a pang of guilt rush over him, but he still took in a steadying breath and stopped in his tracks.

With an austere yet strong conviction, he began as he turned to face his coach.

"Let's end this after the Final... I need to focus on finding my soulmate... playing professional skater was fun and all, and I’m glad I got this one last chance to prove myself... but I can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine. This will be my last competition."

Yuuri finally looked up to see Celestino and Phichit frozen in place, with what looked like shock and almost... grief on their faces. But still, Yuuri tried to continue, not knowing how to control the word vomit that was forcing its way out in a sore attempt to explain himself.

"Maybe, if I can find my soulmate... maybe I’ll compete again in the future... Maybe if I don’t die, I can even ask the JSF to put me on the world team!" He quickly fell into hysterics and got wrapped up in his own fear, self-pity and dark sarcasm. And even though he wanted to, he couldn't  _ stop. " _ I mean, that is if I don’t fuck up like I did last year! Wouldn’t that be nice—"

“Yuuri! Yuuri stop! For god's sake, STOP!" Phichit practically  _ screamed  _ as he took a hold of Yuuri's shoulders in an attempt to snap him out of whatever  _ this _ was. "You can’t say things like that, you’re NOT ALLOWED TO DIE!"

"E-Even if your Hanahaki is starting to get worse, you’re going to be fine — y-you... you... you have to be.... I can’t...” With Phichit no longer shaking him, Yuuri could finally focus and see that his friend was falling into a panic of his own. But Yuuri had never seen Phichit like  _ this  _ before, and between the yelling, the emotions and the shock... Yuuri couldn't do anything to stop the hyperventilating and the sobbing. “I can’t lose my best friend,  _ god damn it Yuuri! _ ! I can’t just let you  **_die_ ** _!!!" _

All he could do was stand there in silence with his jaw hanging open because he had never seen Phichit so angry or emotional or hurt or  _ scared _ . Phichit had always been his rock. A source of fun and levity — no matter what was wrong. He had never been one to be so blunt or realistic about what could happen.

Besides watching movies together, or when they had sometimes laughed so hard they had started crying... or whenever one of his hamsters had done something so cute and dumb... Yuuri couldn’t remember ever seeing Phichit cry. He had seen Yuuri cry  _ countless  _ times, but Phichit...? Never.

That was when Yuuri knew he needed to be what Phichit always was for him. Screw anxiety, screw his self-deprecating emotions, his friend needed him. Yuuri needed to be that rock, even if it was scary and he didn't know what he was doing. On instinct, he wrapped Phichit in as tight of a hug as he could manage.

“Phi-Phichit wait! I’m sorry I —“ he managed to get out before he started  _ coughing. _

Cough after cough after painful cough just kept coming, and Yuuri could barely even hold himself up. He could vaguely recognize that Celestino and Phichit were probably leading him into their hotel room, but it was taking all of his strength not to fall over his own feet due to the dizziness, weakness and disorienting feeling that came with the coughing. 

The pain coursing through his chest and his esophagus was  _ burning.  _ Yuuri could feel it weighing on his lungs, and attempting to breathe felt like he was drowning in bile. Acid felt like it was corroding his throat all the way down to his stomach. Waves of nausea made Yuuri want to simultaneously vomit and chug 10 gallons of water and lie down because he felt like he was going to faint if he didn’t get any of those  _ right that minute _ . 

But Yuuri couldn’t even focus on any of those options because of the fuzziness clouding his mind. Or the hacking which made it impossible to voice his needs. 

Yuuri kept trying and trying to just  _ breathe _ because that seemed like the most necessary and basic function that he could accomplish, but he just  _ couldn’t _ . The coughing was so intense, it felt as if his tongue and his throat and his lungs were all scraping against each other with every cough. If Yuuri didn’t know better, he would have sworn he could taste the distinct iron flavor of blood mixed in with the trademark rush of bile that flooded his mouth during every Hanahaki attack. 

He had no idea of how long his body had been under attack — but even after seconds, minutes and what felt like  _ hours _ of pain — wave after wretched wave of nausea kept coming. Luckily, whatever state of panic and shock that Phichit and Celestino had been in, had quickly been broken, because Yuuri was grateful to be sitting on his bed with a glass of water that he could only guess someone had handed him. 

It was  _ miserable _ , especially with the state he was in, and even more so, with everything Yuuri had lying ahead of him tomorrow. With the Hanahaki overtaking his entire body and mind, even imagining waking up the next morning or attempting to lace up his skates seemed damn near impossible. The idea of skating in competition less than 24 hours from that very moment, left him drained and despairing. 

As Yuuri continued coughing and heaving, Phichit left his side and went to go grab a towel and a small trash can for Yuuri. Just in case, but more importantly, so he could stay as comfortable as possible. 

But by the time he came back, Phichit was met with a few stray flowers and petals that were already strewn on top of the comforter. Yuuri was trembling on his side, head hanging over the edge of the bed with a hand clutching the bottom half of his face and covering his mouth. He was obviously worried about possibly vomiting all over the bed. 

Even though the sight of his miserable friend in front of him shook Phichit to his core, he still managed to run over and hold out the trash can for Yuuri to spit or cough or vomit or  _ whatever _ he needed it for. 

The series of coughs that came out when Yuuri bent over the trashcan and let loose were so  _ painful _ and  _ grating _ on Phichit and Celestino’s ears. Each cough sounded almost like a scream — or as if there was a clawed hand scraping open wounds on the inside of Yuuri’s throat with each cough. His breaths were becoming even more labored and were basically just wheezes. Almost as if Yuuri was struggling to stay afloat and gasping for desperate breaths in a rip current. The raucous cacophony made Phichit involuntarily clench his eyes shut.        

And he honestly wished he had just kept them shut. 

When Phichit opened his eyes to look down at Yuuri... a chill went down his spine. Yuuri’s face was pale, and he noticed that there were deep purple circles that had dug deep, sunken, cavities below his eyes. His cheekbones were far more pronounced, and his lips were thin and chapped with all of the color drained. 

While those were all things that probably weren’t a result of just this most recent Hanahaki attack, the situation made the dramatic appearance that much starker, and Phichit was kicking himself for not noticing those details before. 

Yuuri’s face was wet with sweat, and loose hairs were flying everywhere and sticking to his face. If Celestino hadn’t been sitting next to him on the bed to help him keep his balance, he probably would have fallen over the edge because of how badly his body had been shaking. 

But what Phichit saw was even worse than the last month where Yuuri’s condition had been steadily declining — even worse than the last two weeks where he could barely even make it through an hour of on-ice rehearsal without a few coughs or having to take an extra suppressant.... was seeing the blood that was staining the hand that had previously been covering Yuuri’s mouth. 

That same crimson splatter was beginning to paint the inside of the trash can that Phichit was holding in his shaking hands.

Phichit’s entire body went rigid. He couldn’t breathe. Every hair was standing on edge. All he wanted to do was leave or run or  _ something _ — but he was just frozen solid. As he watched his friend inch closer and closer to death. 

It had to have been at least 10 solid minutes since the coughing fit first started in the hallway before it finally happened. 

Those violent coughs turned almost into rhythmic hiccups as Yuuri gasped for breaths in between more fervent gasps. But these sounded more phlegmatic and  _ final _ . As if  they were finally clearing out the last of whatever was causing that relentless attack. 

Suddenly, with each cough, a small plunk of something hit the lining of the trashcan. There had to be at least six of those thuds in a row, if not more, but Phichit struggled to focus on anything, let alone counting. That pattern somehow made the terrible sound almost have a musical quality to it — before one final cough came.

However, instead of the normal wheeze and gasp, there was a sickening retch in its place. 

The chill that went up Phichit’s spine was similar to the shudder that comes when you hear a car screech in the distance followed by the tell tale thud-crash of an accident. What normally followed was the muffled yelling and alarms that begin following that type of accident. And just like a car wreck, Phichit couldn’t look away. 

Instead of the chaos of an accident, it was the sickening retch. That horrifying sound was soon followed by the weight of whatever contents had just extricated themselves settling in the bottom of the trashcan along with the crinkle of plastic. 

For a moment, all that lingered in the room was a thick silence, which was only filled by shallow, yet heavy labored breathing. It was finally over. 

Yuuri’s face and one of his arms were still dangling over the edge of the bed, obviously due to all strength having been exhausted by the arduous attack. Each breath was low, shaky and elicited a small wheeze on each pick up of the inhale, along with a small hitch on the exhale. 

His weak, sunken eyes kept fluttering open slightly but would immediately close again; far too heavy and exhausted to keep open for more than a few seconds at a time.   


On the bed behind him, Celestino looked almost equally exhausted as he rubbed small comforting circles into Yuuri’s back. Despite whatever emotions and tiredness the coach was fighting off, he attempted to bring a blanket over Yuuri’s still shuddering form. Neither Celestino nor Phichit could figure out if Yuuri was shuddering due to a chill or from the after quakes of his anxiety and Hanahaki. 

The exhaustion and heavy weight that was pressing down on Celestino’s shoulders made the Italian man look wise past his years. Sure, Celestino wasn’t a spring chicken, but he never looked  _ old _ . But here, looking down at the shivering and pale body of his dying student, he looked  _ weathered _ . It probably reminded him of friends or colleagues who had been taken by the same disease. Maybe of the student who was like a daughter, whom he had just flown back from Moscow to go see after having contracted this same death sentence... 

That mournful expression carved deep lines into his tanned face, and made the man appear more contemplative and tired than Phichit had ever seen in all the years of knowing him. 

Upon seeing that, Phichit took in a shaky breath and realized that mourning what had just happened wouldn’t help any of them. The least he could do was at least try and clean up so Yuuri could maybe get some sleep. Or at least, not have to deal with this in the morning when all he  _ should _ have to deal with was the Grand Prix Final.

However, that was when Phichit made the mistake of peering into the trash can which he was holding. 

As he had expected, not only was there blood and other spattered liquid, presumably from bile or spit, that was covering most of the inside lining…. but there were flowers. 

On the bed and floor surrounding his emaciated friend, there were petals all around, which Phichit had grown far too familiar with their color over the last 7 months. In addition to the scattered petals, filling the trash can were five, eight, ten — at  _ least  _ twelve — fifty-cent coin sized, blue and purple, star-shaped flowers. 

_ Delphinium _ . 

An involuntary gasp of horror made its way out of Phichit’s mouth as all the blood and hope drained from his body. He could feel the thin plastic lip of the rim of the trash can slip out of his hands and fall onto the floor. Phichit’s whole body was shaking; but his eyes and quivering, slacked jaw were even worse. Especially as his vision grew clouded with tears. 

The low, resounding, plasticky bounce of the trash can as it hit the hotel’s carpeted floor apparently reached the ears of the miserable and exhausted Yuuri. His swollen, wet eyes opened slightly, and he steadied himself by grabbing onto the edge of the bed as he peered over and towards the source of the sound that had grabbed his attention.

Phichit hadn’t even realized that the trashcan had landed on its side. Even worse, he hadn’t realized that it’s contents had spilled onto the floor — leaving several, fully-bloomed delphinium as they spilled out of the can and onto the floor.    


More than anything that night, perhaps more than anything that entire  _ year _ , Phichit wished he hadn’t seen Yuuri in that moment.  

Not as his chocolate eyes shot open wide in recognition, realization and fear. Not as the shaky and sharp intake of breath reiterated the thick dread that permeated the hotel room. Not as the pale, quivering, blood-covered hand found its way back over Yuuri’s own mouth in shock and disbelief and  _ pain _ . 

Most of all, Phichit wished he had never heard that miserable, trembling, tear-filled whimper that erupted in despair as any hopes or delirious dreams his best friend still had were immediately shattered. 

The entire room was silent for a split second, the only background noise coming from Yuuri’s involuntary whimpers and gasp in pain. Until he managed to cry out one last desperate,  _ broken _ plea. 

“O-Oh….  **God** ….”    


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Y'all! 
> 
> Sorry for the wait, after NaNoWriMo ended, I had a little bit of writing burnout, and then the holidays hit like a freight train. BUT I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please let me know if you have any questions, theories, or things that you loved 
> 
> FINALLY, please please please go check out the amazing cover art that Cirrha made for this fic! I have imbedded it in Chapter 1, as well as linked it in the notes down below, and it is AMAZING, so thank you so so so much! 
> 
> Thank you for all of your love and support, because I have been overwhelmed with the feedback and I am so grateful for all of you who have come back and enjoyed this story so far. 
> 
> I hope you all have an amazing New Year, and I will see y'all in 2019!!!!!!


	8. “Growth Even in the Worst Circumstances”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Please look for translation notes and references at the end of this chapter.
> 
> (Also all I can say for this chapter, is that this was originally _only_ planned to cover the Short Programs... so this chapter definitely got away from me...)

# Chapter 8

### Christmas Rose — “Growth Even in the Worst Circumstances” 

Yuuri could feel every muscle in his body clench and shudder as he struggled to fight off the anxiety that was threatening to overtake him. The 6-minute warm up would be over any second, as Yuuri leaned against the boards, attempting to get some last minute water into his body as Celestino supportively massaged his shoulders to try and release the tension.

As much as Yuuri hated going first in anything, and as terrible it was for his now abysmal stamina due to his Hanahaki, the one good thing was that it allowed him far less time to break down into a panic spiral. It had happened in China and it had happened in Russia. Anxiety and panic liked to wriggle their slimy tendrils into his brain whenever there was an open moment. And even if Yuuri didn’t feel ready to perform his last Short Program, it was probably a blessing that he didn’t have the time to let his anxiety take over.

If he did, his mind would probably spiral down a rabbit hole of dread that was filled with phantom reminders of his impending doom. Or even worse, it would start replaying the vivid memories from the night before. Yuuri didn’t have time to think about Delphinium or Hanahaki — the only thing he needed to focus on was skating his redemption. 

He only had one shot, one take. Just like when Freddie Mercury had recorded this exact same track on his deathbed, he couldn’t afford a “do-over”. There was no editing or time to fix any mistakes. Out there, alone on the ice, he had nowhere to hide. It was all or nothing.  

When the announcer came on over the loudspeaker, Yuuri knew it was time. He took a few last breaths as he leaned against the boards, watching his competitors skate past him and off of the ice with nothing in their sights but a gold medal. Phichit was the last one to clear the ice, and after a playful wink and a much needed high five, Yuuri turned to say his goodbyes to Ciao Ciao as well.

The crowd went silent as he pushed himself away from the boards and toward center ice, his white costume blinding and sparkling under the lights. Yuuri cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders before inhaling the intoxicating cold air of an empty rink. The thrum of anticipation thick in the crowd as they awaited the start of the most contentious event of the Grand Prix Final. It was a strange and exhilarating feeling as Yuuri was for some reason the one to set the ball rolling.

He opened his eyes and set himself into his starting pose, not sure if he wanted to vomit or scream or to somehow attempt a Quintuple jump — because his emotions and excitement and fear were all over the place. But no matter his mental or physical state, the show had to go on 

Surprisingly, Yuuri felt at peace. Every step, every crossover, every bend flowed perfectly and felt as natural as breathing. The program felt more more natural than it had in weeks, maybe even since the Cup of China.  

Yuuri knew his steps were perfect and that he hit every edge, every rocker clean and precise. There would be no question to his levels or position as he flew into his camel spins. Even as his chest felt tight and pressured due to the force of the spin, Yuuri almost used that pressure in a stubborn attempt to force his timing and to push through each element to the best of his ability.

When he hit the Ina Bauer, right at the halfway mark, Yuuri felt _good._ The Triple Axel struck right on the timing of the music, and Yuuri even held his exit longer than necessary because it just felt right in the moment.

Panic began to bubble as Yuuri prepared for the Quad Flip, because he knew he had to land it if he had any chance of making the podium, but it still probably only had a 30% success rate.

The take off was fine, and his edge didn’t shift. But as Yuuri finished the fourth rotation, he felt himself coming down too early, apparently not getting enough height, and he could see his dreams crashing down just as he did. In a lucky, panic-filled instinct, he was able to barely save himself a few points by setting a hand down on the ice to stop himself from falling. Despite the save, the negative points kept racking up in his mind.

Now the adrenaline was racing through his entire body, and Yuuri could barely breathe as he felt his veins begin to tremble. No matter what, he _had_ to land his combination. He couldn’t repeat last year. He couldn’t fail.

Even with a slightly rushed 3-Turn entry, Yuuri still managed a good take off into his Quad Toe, and through _sheer willpower,_ shot himself back up and into his Triple Toe. The landing sent a shock wave through him, and if he had been in practice, he probably would have just called it a day because forcing himself through those jumps and managing those landings took nearly everything out of him. But he still had a job to do.

He was running on fumes, practically on the verge of tears as he finally made it to the combination spin. The position was a bit off center, and he could feel himself traveling, but the positions were the important thing. As he sped up and into his layback spin, he could feel his chest constricting and begging for air, making it nearly impossible for him to grab his blade and pull it into the Beilmann — but he did it. Finally on the last note, Yuuri broke out of the spin and hit his final position.

Eyes were wide, face beet red, and sweat was soaking through every pore. His performance high burst as he was left gasping in an attempt to get the much needed air back into his lungs. 

As the sound of applause filled his ears, Yuuri felt his knees begin to give way. He could barely hold himself up without falling straight onto the ice because his legs felt like jelly, and the adrenaline immediately gave way to the anxiety he had managed to evade before.

Those cheers didn’t sound right to his ears. His anxiety began morphing the applause and cheers and claps and the sound of plushies and flowers hitting the ice into sharp words which sought out every one of his insecurities.

The only thing he could think about was the Quad Flip. Yuuri took a risk — which did not pay off — because he had failed the signature jump of Victor Nikiforov. Right in front of him. On the same stage he failed on last year.

Even if it was highly unlikely that Victor was even watching him skate, probably instead choosing to focus on his own preparation... the thought still festered. 

As he took his bows, Yuuri dreaded heading to the Kiss and Cry because he _didn’t_ skate clean. He _needed_ to skate clean. And the score would reflect that.

The journey to this Kiss and Cry only included a small hug from Celestino; Yuuri knew it would be tough time wise, because both him and Phichit had made the final. It was even tighter because they had each drawn 1 and 2 for their starting order. But knowing that didn’t make the brief hug or words of comfort any easier.

“You did well Yuuri, try not to be so hard on yourself. That was probably the best you could have done considering.” Celestino’s words were not overly sweet, but they still warmed Yuuri in the way his coach had always been so good at.

Yuuri grabbed his skate guards from the coach, before moving out of the way for Phichit to take the ice. Phichit looked everything he wasn’t — exuberant, confident and ready to take on the world. Despite the shaking and the strain, Yuuri managed to put a smile on for his friend as he held up his hand to meet Phichit’s for a high five.

“Yuuri, _ganba_ !” Phichit’s slightly-off phrase of good luck brought a small laugh and genuine smile to Yuuri’s face. Even though _he_ had been the one who had just finished skating, Phichit being ever the sweet boy he was, knew Yuuri needed all the luck going into scoring.

“ _Chok dee krab_ , Phichit!” Yuuri responded back in his best Thai. But based on the aura Phichit was emanating as he took the ice, his friend didn’t even need that luck.

As soon as Ciao Ciao was out of sight, Minako-sensei wrapped her arms around Yuuri in a hug that reminded him of home. It really was comforting as they walked to the Kiss and Cry together.  

He really was grateful to have Minako with him to sit in the Kiss and Cry with as his choreographer. She always knew exactly what he needed. When to encourage, when to comfort and when to leave him be. Her gentle guidance and and reassurance helped, even though Yuuri still couldn’t bring himself to look up or even glance at the replays. If he did, he knew the highlight reel in his brain would keep replaying all of his mistakes on repeat.  

Yuuri was honestly surprised at how… calm he felt. Of course, his version of calm would probably still feel like an overwhelming anxiety attack to most people. But — rather than threatening to rip his costume from how much he was shaking, or accidentally popping the head off of the stuffed animal he was tightly hugging — it was better.

The stuffed animal in his arms was a small teddy bear shaped toy with curly brown fur and a dog head, similar to those from those American stuffed toy stores. It was even clothed in a replica of his white, stoned costume — the little Inu-Yuuri warmed his heart. However, Yuuri could not recall picking _anything_ up off of the ice or either of his coaches handing him anything besides his jacket and skate guards. So it was also a slight bit terrifying, and a reminder that he had possibly blacked out for a fair bit after he finished his skate.

He had been so out of it and lost in thought that Yuuri hadn’t even heard the score announcement until he felt a gentle pat on his back from Minako-sensei.

 **Yuuri Katsuki** **(JPN)**  
Short Program Score  
96.97  

Yuuri let out a slow breath in relief as he straightened his posture now that the bandaid had been ripped off. Just like a bandage, the build up was much worse than the actual resulting pain.

It wasn’t a 100, and was nowhere near his season’s best, but it was still a score he could come back from.

As Phichit took center ice to the sounds of the roaring crowd, Yuuri looked on at his best friend with pride. He didn’t care that he was “supposed” to go do interviews for the press. All Yuuri wanted to do was watch his best friend perform his dream program on the biggest stage of his career.

It was so surreal to hear the distinctive opening notes of “Shall We Skate?” filling the arena with the overwhelming response of Phichit’s fans clapping along. Yuuri could remember all of his wistful wishes he had expressed over years and years of friendship to _finally_ skate to this music. To make history for Thailand and for Southeast Asian skating.

All of it reminded Yuuri of one of his favorite memories from early on in their friendship, and it made him yearn for those old times.

+++

Back in Detroit, Yuuri had been so grateful to have met and become friends with one of the best people he had ever met. Grateful didn’t even begin to describe it when that amazing person and skater became his roommate, and later — best friend.

Phichit and Yuuri had somehow miraculously come together to fill each other’s weak points and were able to match every joke tit for tat. Where Phichit was loud and impulsive, Yuuri was patient and thoughtful. Both always somehow knew when they each needed their space, when they needed cheering up or when they needed to let loose.

Those had been some of the best nights of Yuuri’s college _and_ skating career.

Being roommates with Phichit meant many shenanigans bound to happen. But it was complete with plenty of innocent memories of late night food runs and joking fights about who’s turn it was to take out the trash. Even when they nursed hangovers together on the couch with bad movies, gatorade and shitty pizza after a slightly “too lit” night out, it was still all indescribably fun because they were miserable together.

But one of the fondest was of one movie marathon they had about 3 years ago, when Phichit was barely 17.

Yuuri had just finished his final exams, and Phichit had completed his online courses for the semester as well. Since it was the beginning of December, and most of Celestino’s students were also _academic_ students, he had closed the rink for everything but private lessons until the following week. And for Phichit and Yuuri, that meant it was time to celebrate.

Just about a week earlier, Yuuri had turned 21, which meant that he was finally the legal age to buy alcohol in America. Some of his older rinkmates had taken him out to one of the popular college bars to celebrate, but Yuuri soon found out that was **not** his scene.

Even though Phichit was still just a wee bab, it’s not like the “legal” drinking age was much of an issue for either of them. Since the legal age was different all over the world, and since both had definitely had a few sips (or glasses) of champagne at figure skating banquets in the past, they both definitely took it as more of a _suggestion_ than a rule.

So, Yuuri went to the Target near their apartment, and quickly found exactly what he was looking for: cheap champagne.

Verdi, André, Cook’s — Yuuri’s wallet was singing as he saw numerous bottles all ranging between $5-$8, which were all perfectly within his broke-ass college student/not- _that_ -successful figure skater’s budget. He grabbed four and quickly checked out.

Since neither of them were _huge_ partiers at that age, sometimes getting drunk at home, ordering cheap Chinese food, and failing at Drunk Mario kart was the most fun they could ask for. Especially when they had the rest of the week off from training to celebrate the end of school and the end of the first half of the season.

By the time Yuuri and Phichit’s combined efforts had produced 3 empty bottles (two and a half courtesy of Yuuri) which all ended up scattered on their floor, both boys were significantly drunk. In between rounds of Mario Kart, they turned on some of the shittiest rom-coms and overly-dramatic, made-for-TV movies that they could find. At least, until they both ended up laughing so hard at how bad the movies were that their stomachs couldn’t take it anymore. 

About halfway through the night, they switched to one of their favorite past times: figure skating fantasy league. Or, that’s at least what they called it once, but the name somehow stuck over the years 

First, both boys were posed the question: “Choose a ‘Warhorse’ to Fuck, Marry and Kill”

Phichit immediately responded with “Fuck: ‘Carmen’. _Obviously_. Marry: “West Side Story”, but that’s cuz I’m married to it this season. And Kill... “Les Mis”, because I have seen far too many ‘I’ve Dreamed a Dream’ Programs to last a lifetime.”

Yuuri thought for just a moment before also easily coming up with an answer.

“Also Fuck: ‘Carmen’, Marry: Vivaldi’s ‘The Four Seasons’ because you could get at _least_ 4 different programs from it, if not more. And Kill…… ‘Swan Lake’.”

Next they decided to debate which Olympic podium had been the most rigged. Yuuri, being a man of _taste_ knew that it was obviously the Vancouver 2010’s Mens podium, because they had robbed Victor of his Gold. Phichit on the other hand, apparently had some _very_ strong feelings about Ice Dance. And literally _every_ Olympic podium _ever._

Finally, they tried to agree on who had the best “Carmen” of all time; at least until they both simultaneously responded. 

“[Victor Nikiforov](https://youtu.be/MhIiisXRBys).” “[Christophe Giacometti](https://youtu.be/fUO9yeqTeM8).”  

Both looked at each other incredulously and offended at the thought that their best friend could _somehow_ be so blind.

“Witt or Thomas?” To which both unanimously agreed “Witt”.

When they tried to think of who was their favorite Ladies performance, it took some brainstorming.

“Hmm…. probably [Michele Kwan.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IvQp_cV3xBI) Not only was did she have one of the best Step Sequences ever, but she was a true _icon_ with that pixie cut. Plus that dress?" 

“You’re right, that was a good one, Yuuri, but have you seen that new up-and-coming Russian girl? [Yulia Lipintskaya](https://youtu.be/2HkfVLLAJcY)? Her ‘Carmen’ is **killer** and she’s only like, what, 13?? I seriously can’t even _comprehend_ how flexible she is.”

“Oh, I can’t forget to mention and thank [Tessa and Scott](https://youtu.be/o1Oa39Uojj0) for making me realize I was bisexual.”

“Woah, wait, I haven’t seen that yet, is that from this season?!”  

“Sure is.” Yuuri said before showing Phichit [ _that_ ](https://youtu.be/o1Oa39Uojj0?t=330) lift.

“Holy shit Yuuri, I think I might be bi.”

Even though figure skating was practically their life 24/7, neither Phichit or Yuuri ever seemed to get tired of talking about it, and always managed to find something new to debate and laugh about.

Once the infomercials started, Phichit took the remote and of course, put on “The King and the Skater”. Then he went to go grab Tano, Bonaly and Carl from their cages. It really was lucky that hamsters were nocturnal, because otherwise they probably wouldn’t put up with all of the drunk singing and petting.  But once the hamsters joined Yuuri and Phichit on the bed, they seemed more than happy to crawl al over the two boys and run around until their little legs got tuckered out.

Watching “The King and the Skater” seemed to be how most of their nights ended, but Yuuri wouldn’t have changed it for the life of him. Even though he probably couldn’t even count how many times they had watched it together.

Even if Yuuri had hated the silly musical (which luckily he didn’t), it was always worth it to see how happy it made his friend. Plus, Phichit’s drunk singing and attempts at  getting Carl to dance with him were _hilarious_. Especially as Yuuri got to chill with Tano and Bonaly, who were smart enough to seek refuge behind Yuuri’s legs.

Once Yuuri heard the tell-tale notes of “Shall We Skate?” begin to play, he turned to his friend expecting a flamboyant and a trademark Phichit “extra as fuck” rendition of his all-time-favorite song. Instead, Yuuri was surprised to see a soft and fond expression decorating Phichit’s still slightly drunken, flushed face.

The scene in the movie was an extravagant ensemble number full of color, dancing and magical special effects that always made Yuuri smile. More than anything, because he had heard so many stories of how that scene was what had first inspired Phichit to start skating.

As the music pittered out, Phichit turned to Yuuri, somehow having regained the favor of all 3 hamsters as Tano and Bonaly had found apparently comfy spots on his shoulders. Both were seemingly content with their owner petting their squishy bodies. While Carl, being the cute idiot he was, was trying to balance on top of Phichit’s head.

“Someday, I want to skate to “Shall We Skate?” Even though it stars a Thai actor, no Thai skater has ever used that in a program. Someday, I’ll skate to it at a major competition!”

Even as Phichit was beginning to sober up, his excitement was still contagious and the idea made Yuuri smile. Because he knew that yes, someday, Phichit _would_ skate to it. And he would win with it.

“You’ll be there too, Yuuri!”

+++

Phichit really was amazing.

As he finished the routine, Yuuri could only stare as the feeling of nostalgia turned to awe, amazement and fondness as he felt a true sense of pride in what Phichit had performed.

He was such an entertainer, never dropping his smile or energy throughout the entire program. Not only was it an amazing performance, but it was perfectly clean. With every movement he made and every expression he projected, Phichit perfectly embodied joy and life with his skating. It was infectious.

A wave of bittersweet emotions hurled through Yuuri’s heart and mind as he watched Phichit hit his final pose. Of the final short program that Yuuri would probably ever watch. Even though the thought made him want to cry, Yuuri couldn’t think of a better way to remember his best friend.

‘Phichit-kun, you were a perfect entertainer until the very end.’ 

Yuuri’s proud thought was rudely interrupted by a thundering kick to his bench and a loud screech, which could have only come from one tiny, blond ball of rage.

“How long are you gonna stay in the Kiss and Cry for, idiot?!”

The shocking yet spritely outburst from Yuri, who was standing in the wing about to take the ice, actually made Yuuri laugh as he moved to make room for Celestino and Phichit. .

It was almost… nice to get back to what seemed like a normal (if you could call it that) energy between the two of them. Hearing a normal taunting comment from the teen felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

The remaining guilt from the events of the prior night no longer hung over his head like a grey cloud. Instead those clouds parted to reveal light, filtering rays of hope that could lead the way for Yuuri to make amends and make use of what little time he had left.

As Yuuri saw the teen take the ice in his feathered, glittering costume that somehow managed to look almost as good as it had when Victor had worn it so many years ago, he wished he could stay and watch. Unlike before when he had felt guilty or scared of the younger skater, Yuuri was now honestly just sad that he couldn’t watch — because he genuinely wanted to see what Yuri could _do._

Yuuri took his time leaving the main rink, walking as slowly as possible he possibly could towards the backstage and press area. That way he could at least try and catch a glimpse of the show Yuri was putting out on the ice.

What Yuuri saw was a completely different skater.

Far different from the Junior who earned the title of reigning Junior Grand Prix Final champion, just a year before. Far different from the unsure teenager who had skated a meek and distant “Agape” in Moscow.

But here, in this performance, Yuuri could truly see Victor’s influence on the little Yuri. Not just in the costume. Not just his long hair flowing freely as he flew across the ice. Not even the choreography, which was easily identifiable as Victor’s. But it was in the _way_ that Yuri skated, the _way_ he pushed himself in his crossovers, the _way_ he shifted his weight of his edges.

In every jump prep, in every solid transition between elements… Yuuri could see the sheer confidence and energy that Victor had exhibited at that age. When the whole skating world had opened up for him, and he took it it by storm.

Even as Yuuri had to tear his eyes away from the ice to go finish his “job” with the reporters, Yuuri knew that this would probably the best skate of Yuri Plisetsky’s career. With every completed element, the arena reverberated with applause; and surprisingly, Yuuri wasn’t scared.

He almost felt… proud. Because unlike himself, Yuuri was able to perform even under the highest pressure. Somehow able to deliver what was probably a technically _perfect_ program.

Finally, as Yuuri finished his last question from a reporter, he was able to sneak away just in time to see Yuri, Yakov, and the very strong-looking (and the very Russian-looking) choreographer surrounding him in the Kiss and Cry. Then, he heard the result come on over the loudspeaker. 

The whole arena went silent for one split second; it seemed as if everyone was doing the same recall and figure skating math to see if their eyes were deceiving them. But they weren't.

Yuuri _vividly_ remembered seeing only one score that had ever even come _close_ to that number. At last year’s Skate Canada, where Victor had broken his own World Record.

But Yuri’s 118.56 which was lighting up the screen was at least a full point higher than even _that._ It amazed Yuuri, that less than 24 hours after the scene and anger and hurt the teenager had exhibited that previous night, Yuri had still managed to pull off not only a great skate — but head earned a new World Record.

As he watched on, a bittersweet taste filled Yuuri’s mouth, causing small thoughts of his own retirement to bubble up. Yuri Plisetsky represented the future of figure skating, and how the next generation was just waiting to break through — ready to take the places of skaters like Yuuri. Ready to fill the hole that this disease was leaving on the sport.

It really was a shame that Yuuri couldn’t stay in the sport longer. The two of them really could have gone down as legendary rivals: Yuri vs Yuuri. But that thought, and any real chance of that ever becoming a reality would soon pass as just another “what if”, another “could have been” and a “never to become”.

With that thought still hanging in the air, Yuuri was brought back to the state of the competition by a loud call of his name coming from behind him in the bleachers. He turned back up to look into the stands and scanned the faces of the audience to try and find the source of it, to find... his friends.

Sara, Mila, Michele and Emil; all 4 were sitting together in a group. The two girls probably watching in order to take their minds off of their competition that would start the following day, while it seemed the two men were acting as bodyguards of sorts. While it was surprising to see all 4 of them here again, what surprised Yuuri the most was the small smile that he couldn't help but let his lips curve into. Even if it wasn’t the group he would have imagined, he was more than grateful to see all of them. For at least one more time.

Yuuri sat close to where Sara was, although still with a good bit of distance between them. He was smart to, otherwise he would probably to get his head bit off by Michele. Luckily, he had made it just in time to see Christophe take the ice.

Just as expected, Christophe's skating was incredible and complex, and Yuuri was _Intoxicated_. As he became entranced, Yuuri found himself marveling at the idea that Chris could somehow out-Eros Victor — but it was true. Chris oozed complete and utter sex appeal.

But even more than watching his sex appeal, it was so great to see Chris skating like himself. Not in the forced “sexy” way that he sometimes got pigeonholed into, but instead light and almost carefree. Just like how he carried himself in everyday life. It perfectly exemplified his confidence, his ease, his depth and even his multifaceted warmth was inescapable. Not only did his skating draw you in, but so did his personality. _That_ is what made Chris truly _intoxicating_.

Despite the show that was sure to leave more than a few audience members hot and bothered, Yuuri couldn't help but be reminded of his friendship and all of the memories he had made with the Swiss skater over the years.

It felt a little odd to be having those memories of their competitive streak that had followed them throughout their careers, even as they competed as juniors, while he was watching this kind of performance… but Yuuri couldn’t help but remember his very first international podium finish.

All the way back in 2009 at the Croatia Cup on the Junior Grand Prix circuit, Yuuri found himself standing next to a curly-haired, little, blonde boy with wide and inviting eyes. Even with a shiny bronze medal around his own neck, Yuuri could only stare at the Gold medalist to his right.

That was the first of many competitions where Yuuri found himself in a friendly rivalry with the Chris. Even though that their time on the Junior Grand Prix circuit seemed like it had happened ages ago, the memory still rung clear as a bell.

Nearly 7 years later… there is no way that either of them could have predicted how far they would both come. Not their victories, not their personal bests, not the new heights that both of them helped raise figure skating to. Not the failures or the pain — and not the way it was soon to end 

Neither Chris nor Yuuri had ever _won_ the Grand Prix Final. For Yuuri, the reason was obvious. But for Chris, he had worked and worked and fought and climbed to the top of the world for so many years, only to continuously come in second. In every Grand Prix Final, in every European Championship and in every World Championship.

The sad part was that as the level of international figure skating rose, the amount of time that Chris had left in the sport was decreasing with each passing day. If not today, if not 3 months from now, if not another _year_ , the fear that he would come down with the same disease which was plaguing Yuuri must have been looming over his head. Chris was a smart man — and he knew the risks and the statistics as he chose to keep pursuing this career, and to keep doing what he loved. Until he couldn’t.

Him and Yuuri were very similar in that way, even if Chris might not know it. Still, Yuuri would always cherish his time with Chris. Through all the teasing, flirting and groping, the man was still one of Yuuri’s closest friends. Now, what he wanted more than anything for his friend, was to give him the ability to end his career on his _own_ terms.

When the scores came in, Chris earned a 102.37. It was a season's best for him, which Yuuri cheered for. However, it also made the unease of his own score settled into his stomach.

"Good, another score higher than the piggy _."_ Yuuri suddenly heard from behind him as a shoe violently landed on the bench next to him. He turned around to see Yuri sitting behind him, a small smug smile on his face. He was obviously still excited from his world record. There was also a small flush on his face that seemed out of place, but Yuuri didn't question it as the boy called out again. "Otabek, davai!!"

When Yuuri turned, he saw the second-to-last skater take the ice.

Otabek Altin: the hero of Kazakhstan, the dark horse of figure skating, and the unpredictable yet entrancing favorite who after placing at last year's World's, was taking the figure skating world by storm.

However, aside from at the restaurant the night before, Yuuri had not seen Otabek since Four Continents two years prior, when the Kazakh had been barely 16 years old. It was astonishing how much Otabek has changed and grown since then. Unlike before, he was no longer a boy fighting to skate among men. Now, he was a soldier clearing a path to victory and surpassing everyone’s expectations of what was to come.

Although Yuuri did not know Otabek well, that didn’t mean he didn’t feel a sense of mourning the friendship they could have had. From afar, he always seemed so strong willed and formulaic. Never missing an element under most pressure, and quickly jumping through any door that other skaters had left open. That was how he earned his rightful place on the World podium earlier that year. Through sheer determination and hard work — which was something Yuuri had worked for his whole life and still continuously failed at, yet Otabek had a true knack for.

Despite that rigid exterior, what little conversation Yuuri had with the younger man had proven he was as soft and fluffy as the bears his fans threw onto the ice for him. During the previous night, it was obvious the boy even had a soft spot even for the most feral of kittens, and could keep a level head even under high duress 

With all of those thoughts in his head, all of his crisp and powerful movements on the ice — everything that Otabek did made Yuuri long for a chance to go back and actually form a meaningful friendship with him. Something deeper than just a co-competitor relationship. More meaningful and substantial than the genuine respect he had for him that only manifested as a quiet admiration from afar.

But sadly, as Otabek hit his final dynamic pose, and finished off a marvelously done and truly unique program, the reality of his situation hit Yuuri. All of the shoulds, coulds and woulds wouldn’t be enough to save him or make more time to befriend the stone-faced skater… but for now, the least Yuuri could do was give him a much deserved round of applause. Even if his clean program meant that he himself was probably going to be sent down at least one more rung in the rankings.

Teddy bears of all shapes and sizes began to cover practically every inch of the ice and most of the crowd became shrouded in a curtain of turquoise, a sea of waving Kazakhstan flags. Yuuri can only imagine the sense of pride that Otabek must have felt in that moment — his first Grand Prix Final, just like Phichit — and he was truly becoming the face of his country. They were all there to make history.

That thought only lasted for a split second as Otabek left the ice and approached the Kiss and Cry, only to be _drowned_ by the thunderous, booming roar that was shaking the entire arena. There was only one skater in the world that could elicit a response like _that_ from an audience 

Victor Nikiforov.

From the moment he stepped out onto the ice, the Russian’s presence immediately swept over the crowd to fill the entire arena. There was not a single seat left empty in the building. Even if there was, it was practically impossible to see any faces visible behind the giant Russian flag that nearly every fan was holding up. It truly was a breathtaking experience to be able to see Victor Nikiforov perform live.  The sight took Yuuri's breath away, and he was sure that every single person watching in the arena and at home across the world felt the same way.

Even if Yuuri hadn’t been majorly and almost creepily attracted to ( _obsessed_ ) with Victor for the majority of his life, Eros would still be considered an _entrancing_ program. Probably one of the best programs of his entire career.

The way the rhythm simultaneously felt bright and upbeat, while managing to flow with effortless perfection. Every step, every note of the violin and accordion and clarinet oozed sex appeal. Even the costume added another layer of perfection that kept the audience wanting more. In one word: unsurpassed.

It all combined with the exquisite aura unique quality that Victor brought to every performance that combined to make a practically flawless program. One which Yuuri could only envision Victor ever being able to pull off. Moments like this sometimes made Yuuri wish he could have been just a plain fan, rather than a competitor. That way, he could properly appreciate that skate for all it was worth, rather than with a judgemental eye that he had to try and be better than. Yuuri couldn’t even try to do that on his best day.

He would much rather sit and appreciate Victor be try competing against him. Everything Victor had ever done, for as long as Yuuri had watched him skate, had been on a completely different level. Even though he had always drawn on Victor for inspiration to grow and improve, Yuuri still couldn’t comprehend that he was somehow “supposed to be on the same level” as him. There was no possible comparison. Not when it came to Victor.

From the second that the strings began reverberating throughout the stadium, every cell stood still to allow Victor Nikiforov to shine and enthrall. Yuuri knew this program well, and knew the first element was going to be Victor’s signature Short Program combination jump — the Quadruple Flip - Triple Toe Loop. Not only was Victor one of the only skaters who had ever attempted the jump combination in the Short, but he had also landed it every international competition since —

Yuuri’s brain short circuited before being able to finish that thought as a horrified gasp shook the arena. Victor had just landed what was probably the tightest, and possibly most underrated Quadruple Flip that Yuuri had ever seen. It had forced him to turn on his blade instead of holding onto the running edge — proving impossible to add the Triple Toe Loop and add a combination.

He could barely believe his eyes, and thought he was somehow stuck in a nightmarish, anxiety-filled day dream. The only thing that was stopping his eyes from popping out of their sockets were his contacts. His hands were gripping his seat for dear life, barely able to keep his balance on the edge of it.

Normally during this program, Yuuri’s blood would be racing thanks to the inhuman display of grace, fluidity and “mature eros”. Instead he found his mind racing because of the very _human_ scene playing out on the ice down below.

Victor’s transitions soon shifted into his Step Sequence. There was a discernible difference from what Yuuri had seen just two weeks prior in Russia. Before, each edge was impeccable — clean and barely even detectable as he shifted through each step on his rocker. But tonight… It was still just as mesmerizing, and powerful, if not _more so_ than he had ever seen. Desperation broke through the choreography, and Yuuri could barely breathe as Victor entered his first set of sit spins.

It was almost disconcerting how much watching Victor _hurt._ Yuuri chalked it up to a mix of secondhand stress derived from watching a fellow skater struggle, the burning anxiety building in his nerves and praying as a Victor fan. The telltale itch that signified his suppressants beginning to lose their effectiveness didn’t help either. But it also told Yuuri that he needed to remember to keep breathing, or else they wouldn’t be able to keep doing their job.

Breathing proved to be a difficult task as Yuuri’s eyes followed Victor with unwavering intensity as the struggle to push through each crossover became evident.

When Victor’s toe pick hit into the ice, Yuuri’s mind reeled in confusion-caused whiplash and a feeble attempt at on-the-fly figure skating math. Apparently, Yuuri had been so focused and nervous, that he hadn’t even considered what changes to his layout that Victor was going to make because of his previous mistake.

That thought didn’t last long either as Yuuri unconsciously raised his hand to cover his gaping, quivering mouth. It seemed that his jaw was apparently going to stay on the floor for the entirety of the program, slack with shock.

The urge to gasp was impossible to suppress as Victor barely managed to squeak out a Double Toe Loop (which Victor could only assume was _supposed_ to be a Quadruple Toe Loop). Not only that, but he had been so shaky in the split-second where there _should_ have been a connecting jump, that Victor only managed to do a weak plié before abandoning the idea. And the combo all together.

If he could have looked away, Yuuri probably would have. Still, his eyes remained glued to Victor as he still attempted the spread eagle into his last jump: the Triple Axel. 

Which he popped. 

Yuuri buried his face in his hands with a whispered prayer as he felt tears prick their way to the surface. There was only one thing on his mind as Victor flew into his camel spins.

‘It’s like watching myself from last year. No, wait. This is different because this is **Victor**.’

In all of Yuuri’s years spent watching and admiring Victor, he had never once seen a more uncharacteristic skate from the Russian. The panic and anguish, the inconsistencies and pops… It all reminded Yuuri of himself 

But Yuuri had no right to think any less of Victor just because of one bad performance.

He took on challenges that no one else could even dream of. Just the thought of competing on the same ice as Victor was a _dream_ for so many young skaters all across the world. Yuuri should know.

Victor was the unrivaled king of this sport. One of the most, if not _the most_ decorated figure skater of all time. A living legend.... and a human.

A human, who made mistakes. A human — who if it wasn’t for — Yuuri probably wouldn’t have been there at the Grand Prix Final without.

That sight somehow reignited a competitive spark in Yuuri’s chest. A blossoming need to follow through on his promise and his goal. He couldn’t end his career with any regrets.

In the past, Victor had inspired Yuuri to be better and to strive for more. Even now — as Victor struggled to finish that program — that sentiment held true.

Still, as Victor hit his final pose and hugged his body tight, it all felt so _wrong_ . He should be happy that a door had been opened and an opportunity was laid out in front of him to take advantage of with the promise of a podium finish. But instead, it _hurt._

 

* * *

 

Everything was _white_.

Panic was coursing through his body and the only things he could feel were panic and shame and more pain as his shaking hands grasped at his body while he struggled to hold his final pose. It felt like his chest was about to cave in on itself, and he desperately wanted to rip the constricting costume off of his body. Not caring about deductions or decency, he just needed to _breathe_ and not feel like he was dying.

Even though he was.

His hands were gripping the black fabric of his pant legs for dear life. It was the only thing that could ground him as he could barely find purchase in the ice with his blades. His vision went blurry and his whole body, every vein was shaking. It was impossible to tell if it was from Hanahaki, from exhaustion, from anger, from pity, or from _what_ — but Victor just wanted OFF of that ice.

It was getting impossible to not cough, and it felt like Eros wasn’t the only thing that was burning up that arena. There was a fire was raging in his chest and no amount of water that he was craving could help.  

He didn’t need to hear the scores to know. That performance was absolute shit. It was probably the worst of his career. Victor couldn’t even blame it on anyone or anything other than himself — because it was his fault. It was his fault he let it get this far, and it was his fault that he couldn’t control himself out on the ice.

Every step, every note of the music had been draining and _terrible_ and **_throbbing_ **. But he knew it was all over when he prepped for his Quad Flip.

Victor didn’t know if it was coincidence, the pressure of the jump, the adrenaline or the centrifugal force, but before he could even land, a sudden burning sensation flooded his chest and made it nearly impossible to land, much less attempt a jump combination. It took all the strength he had to not fall flat on his face, his hip or to twist his blade the wrong way. It honestly amazed him that he was even able to manage that. But the pain was enough that he might as well have toppled right into and through the boards.

That’s when he knew he was fucked. If he couldn’t even land his signature jump properly, what hope did he have now that he had to somehow tack a combination into his second planned quad. Victor _didn’t_ make mistakes. Even when he did, it was normally easy and _expected_ for him to pull off surprise fixes — no problem. But with the state his body was in, and with the Hanahaki and pain clouding his brain, he had no chance.

Originally he had planned a Quad Flip - Triple Toe Loop combination — his signature for the short program. His stamina had never been great enough for him to attempt it safely in the free, but he had almost _never_ missed it in the 3 years of competitions where he had used it. Because of that, he figured it was more advantageous to pack in the higher base value jumps rather than focus on putting his jumps in the second half for extra points. That’s what he had always done anyway, since choreography and musicality came far easier to him than stamina.

But now there was no way on earth he was going to be able to pull off a Quad Lutz in combination. He had never been able to consistently even _dream_ of doing that in practice. So now? He had to think on the fly.

Victor knew his best shot was to just pray for muscle memory to help him pull off a simple Quad Toe Loop - Triple Toe Loop, since he had at least managed one successfully in his official practice run-through for his Free.

As he fumbled and struggled to breathe through his step sequence, Victor could barely even hear the music as his brain could only focus on two things. The need for more oxygen, and the need to land at least _some form_ of a combination jump. He knew he was probably rushing or was behind or forgot to put the nuance and mature appeal into the choreography — but that didn’t matter if he couldn’t finish the program.

While it was slightly less painful to breathe as he prepared through his crossovers, jumping would be an entirely different story. As Victor struck the ice with his toe pick to propel himself upwards, he found that any energy he _thought_ he had was entirely gone. His legs were jelly, and he could barely feel them, much less have any semblance of control.

If Victor hadn’t popped his jumps, he would have either face planted into the ice as he attempted a third or fourth revolution, or he would have snapped his jellied legs on the landing. He fought and struggled through every edge, every transition, every flick of the wrist, every pained facial expression and tried to pour in every ounce of sex appeal he could to save this routine, but all he could feel was his cowering grimace and intense pain.

It had seriously been the most difficult skate of his career — and he would have nothing to show for it.

His Triple Axel — the easiest jump planned for his short — suffered the same fate, ending up with only a miserable popped single. Which to add insult to injury, was worth absolutely _zero_ points.

All of these memories that he quickly wanted to block out of his mind were instead coming back full-force as Victor fought back the growing pressure in his chest as he took his bows. Not that he even _deserved_ to take a bow, since he wouldn’t even call that mess he had left on the ice a program. If the crowd had been shocked into silence, laughing at his failures, or feigning polite skating etiquette and still giving him applause… Victor couldn’t hear it. The only sound he could hear was his pounding heart, a sharp ringing in his ears and his thoughts threatening him and his sanity.

As he forced himself to move step by step off the ice, his whole body shook with each push of his skates. All Victor could do was stare lifelessly toward the ground. Like before, everything was _white_ , but unlike before it was clear. No blur, only a reminder of his shame as he couldn’t even pick his head up to put on his mask and fake a smile.

He couldn’t tell who it was, maybe Yakov, maybe Lilia, maybe some godawful representative from the RSF, and   _whoever_ it was guided him onto the bench in this Kiss and Cry and sat next to him. The space between them was a huge rift that sent a chill up his spine; not just from the space, but the _silence._ He didn’t even need to see the scores to know it was probably the worst score he had received in his entire career.

His struggle, his pain, his drive were all all now meaningless as the scores lit up the screen. Even through his near-deafened state, he could hear the shocked gasp echo through the arena. Victor was on the verge of death and he _felt_ like it. But to top it all off, he now felt like a failure and a fraud.

As soon as it was physically possible for Victor to _leave_ the Kiss and Cry, he did. Was it probably _acceptable_ to leave? No, but Victor didn’t care anymore.

88.62.

That was the lowest score Victor had ever scored in the almost _twelve years_ he had been skating at the senior level. The _only_ jump he had even gotten _credit_ for was his Quad Flip. Even then — he hadn’t gotten a positive grade of execution for it. He didn’t even want to look at the protocols, because it would be like carving the proof of his failures into his brain. That was the last thing Victor needed right now.

Sure, a lot of his mistakes probably had something to do with the burning, prickling, stabbing sensation that made every breath and every step feel like his whole body was on fire. But Hanahaki was no excuse for what he had done on the ice. He had skated through worse before because pain was something he had grown used to over the years.

Victor had dealt with small, recurring injuries over the years. Pains and strains were basically the norm in the sport. Pulled muscles, loose boots, bruises, jet lag, minor sprains — he had skated through _all of it._ So why now — the last time that skating would ever even _matter_ — was when his body decided to fail him.

As Victor ran down the hallway, his mind raced. He didn’t care that Yakov was yelling his name far behind him; he didn’t care if there were cameras everywhere, he didn’t _care_ if there were reporters. He just needed to get out of there.

The sick feeling in his stomach which threatened to bubble up and expose him acted as the only fuel as he ran to the locker room.

Since Victor was the last skater to go, and he had placed far out of the top 3, it wasn’t like he needed to sit through a stuffy and uncomfortable press conference. Or would be invited. And it wasn’t like any of the reporters were going to ask him anything he wanted to answer anyway.

It would all probably be questions asking him “Why do you think the technical elements fell apart?” or “Are you feeling okay, or are you injured?” or “How do you think you managed to get such high PCS score despite your technical errors?”

The last question would have been laughable. Everyone in their right mind, and anyone who knew anything about figure skating and the politics of the sport could tell you _that_.

Victor Nikiforov, Russia’s Champion, 5-time Grand Prix Final Champion, 5-time World Champion, Olympic Medalist and World Record holder… no judge in their right mind would ever score someone with that amount of skating pedigree under a 9 in any category. That is, unless they wanted the entire Russian skating audience and federation to be up in arms.

 _Usually_ Victor would by far and away crush almost anyone else in PCS — and he would usually deserve it. But there was always something to be said about having the name, having the titles, and having the country to back-up the scores when it came to… _lesser_ performances.

Even now, Victor knew he didn’t deserve that score. What he had done out on the ice _laughable._ Not only had his own World Record been broken by his teammate — by his own _choreography —_ just 3 skaters prior…  but Victor had skated to the same music; and lost _miserably._

Whether it was from the bitter thoughts clouding his mind or from the Hanahaki, Victor struggled to swallow down the bile that was rushing in. He was so nauseous, and it took everything he had to force it back down his swollen and inflamed throat until he could finally see the locker room.

When he finally pushed the doors open, Victor barely even made it to the sink before collapsing into a fit of coughs. Luckily for him, he didn’t feel any flowers threatening to come up. Instead, it was just bile and sobs that he couldn’t bite back.

His whole throat was on fire and his face was burning. Both from the pain and the ignominy. When he looked into the mirror, he could barely even recognize himself despite the wave of deja vu ran over him, reminding himself eerily of the miserable attack from the Rostelecom Cup.

Victor harshly rubbed at his face and grit his teeth, unable to control his volatile emotions.

“I was supposed to be ending my career on **my** terms…! How the hell am I supposed to do that now….?!?!”

He continued to wail as he tore his hands through his hair in despair, trying to get his head to stop aching. Victor only paused when he felt a slight give.

His eyes widened and immediately began pouring out waterfalls of grief-stricken tears as he saw a few tufts of his silver hair hanging limply in his palms.  

Another choked out, anguished cry echoed through the room and resounded against the tinny lockers. Victor could no longer hold anything back as desperation and sorrow filled his entire body. As he fell onto his knees, he clutched the hair in his trembling fists and bawled.

Hanahaki-Derived Alopecia Areata.

It was a symptom that often presented itself during the fourth stage of Hanahaki, when the body’s cells began to break down and die. Before his death sentence, Victor had joked about how he would rather die than go bald. Now it seemed like he had no choice but to do both.

He stayed in that hunched, cowering position on the cold floor for a few more moments as he tried to ride out the last of his tears, before forcing himself back up to look in the mirror. Victor almost obsessively surveyed his head, trying to find the source of the hair. Luckily it seemed like most of it hadn’t come from the same spots, and the only bald patch he found was rather small, and easily hidden in the back.

He still couldn’t stop the tears from falling, even though he had no idea his body could even hold that much water. It felt like a dam broke; now there was a constant leak that he just had to let drip until his tear ducts ran dry. Victor felt weak and powerless. He couldn’t stop crying, he couldn’t stop his hair from falling out, he couldn’t stop his Hanahaki, he couldn’t even stop himself from failing at the one thing he had always been good at. But…

“I’m not ready to die like this…” His hoarse whisper fell from his lips, but it was the truth. He _wasn’t_ ready to die yet.

As he uttered those words, Victor’s mind suddenly thought of the similar words in his Free Skate, and his unanticipated kinship he felt with Pierre. He had chosen his Free Skate song for many reasons, but he never thought how close to home those lyrics in ‘ _Dust and Ashes_ ’ would hit.  

Victor wiped any remaining bile away from his face and acrimoniously thanked god he didn’t have to clean up any flowers yet. Even though that same god had still cursed him with this disease.

He hurried and grabbed all of his things, trying to rush out of the locker room before a full Hanahaki wave could incapacitate him. It took everything he had to not break down in a pathetic mix of crying and coughing right where he stood. Sure, he was relatively out of the public eye now that it seemed like the next event had started, but he needed to get back to the hotel. Honestly, he just wanted to go _home —_ but he still had a job to do. Even if he was likely to fail just like he had today.

Victor rushed through the hallway with his bag and rolling suitcase, and called a taxi. He didn’t even bother texting Yakov, because he didn’t want to deal with another lecture. Actually, what was weird is that Victor _didn’t_ remember Yakov lecturing him in the Kiss and Cry… Yakov _always_ lectured him about _something._ Even when he had broken his own World Records or won gold. But either Victor had completely blacked out while he was in the Kiss and Cry… or Yakov had been eerily silent.

That was _not_ a good sign; either Yakov knew that something was _wrong_ , or he thought that performance had been beyond saving. Neither were what Victor wanted going into his final skate.

Finally, when Victor was able to sneak out of one of the back entrances to the arena, and he saw the cab… he let loose.

He didn’t have time to care what the cab driver thought, because the pressure that had been growing inside of his chest was unbearable and he couldn’t hold it in anymore. The only thing he could do was _try_ not to cough up any flowers.

Luckily the ride to the hotel was short. If he had been in better health, he probably could have walked there no problem. Even luckier, was that it seemed like the cab driver was courteous enough to not ask questions. Or at least not confident enough in whatever language he thought Victor spoke to ask.

As soon as the cab rolled up, Victor dumped out what was probably an obscene amount of money, and choked out a weak “Gracias” before practically rolling out of the passenger door. He was barely cognizant enough to remember to grab his suitcase and bag, but when he did, he took the handle and rushed towards the glass revolving doors of the hotel.

Thank god that he had been in a right enough mind to remember to put anything of weight in his rolling bag. Even though it wasn’t always the easiest to control, Victor knew he probably didn’t have the strength to carry it all. It took everything he had to even keep a single shred of composure as he made his way through the bustling lobby and to the elevator.

His mask was breaking, and Victor couldn’t afford to lose it _now._ Not in the middle of the hotel, not in view of possibly _everyone_ . Press, skaters, fans, other international patrons, _anyone_ who could take one picture of his pained face, take a video of one cough — and cause rumors to  _soar_.

That damn elevator was going to be the death of Victor Nikiforov if it didn’t come any faster. He pressed and pressed and pressed and kept pressing the button, back and forth until his finger began to cramp. He kept pressing so fast that it was hard to even keep track of the movement, but the strain in his finger definitely assured Victor that _yes,_ he was indeed pressing the button. And _no,_ the elevator still wasn’t there.

Victor was normally a patient man, but a lot of things had changed over the last 9 months.

By the time the metal doors finally parted to reveal a blissfully empty elevator, Victor nearly tumbled in before hitting the button with two triangles facing each other with nearly as much fervor as he had used outside. Once the doors finally shut, leaving Victor finally alone, he couldn’t hold his coughs back anymore. He had to brace himself on the metal bar just to prevent himself from falling over. However he couldn’t prevent the onslaught of petals that were uncomfortably creeping up his throat.

Sadly the phrase “better out than in” definitely didn’t apply to Hanahaki. It was nearly impossible to control either the expulsion of flowers or the pain it caused. Sure, his lungs had felt like collapsing under what felt like a the pressure of an explosive volcano ever since he had stepped onto the ic earlier... And sure, his whole body had been shuddering and weak from the combined feeling of the brisk, Barcelona winter and his feeble state. But Hanahaki attacks worse than all of that.

Since Victor’s room was only on the 5th floor, he didn’t have long to regain a semblance of composure before a  _ding_ signaled that he had nearly reached his destination. He didn’t have either the mental capacity or the discipline to check the elevator for any evidence. Worst case, there were a few stray petals, but those wouldn’t necessarily be out of place at a figure skating competition anyway, and there was no way for anyone to trace them back to him. 

More than likely, any of Victor’s petals which ended up scattered around the hotel would just end up trampled, bruised and crushed by the normal foot traffic of a busy hotel. Which, incidentally, was exactly what Victor felt like was happening inside of his own body. 

The near maze ahead of hallways was the last hurdle before he could finally be free from the fear of being discovered. Victor didn’t know what he had done to deserve being assigned a room at nearly the opposite side of the building as the elevator. But it proved to be apparently another ring of hell that he had been damned to.

Victor’s vision was swaying, and even though he allowed himself a few small coughs and wheezes as what he had hoped would be a reprieve from the onslaught, it still grew harder and harder to walk and hold himself up right as he struggled even while holding himself up along the wall.

He had been walking but he really wanted to _run_ , although that seemed too much for his frail body in this state. But walking had proven to still be too slow, as what felt like hours had passed without rest since he had been able to cough freely in the elevator.

Finally, as he was able to round the corner of what at least he _hoped_ was the last stretch, it happened. With his finish line in sight, Victor became careless and clumsy. Which combined with his emaciated state — proved to be his demise.  

As he continued to rely on the wall for balance, he paid no attention to the suitcase he was rolling behind him. But just a few steps later, Victor ended up clipping the corner of a wall with one of its wheels. That wheel, then hit the back of Victor’s heel — tripping him and causing a shot of pain to run up his leg and find its way deep into his chest as he fell to the ground.  

The shock and impact nearly knocked the wind out of Victor as he landed nearly flat on his chest, barely able to catch himself.  

His chest immediately seized due to previous scarring and irritation, combining with the pressure of the impact to make Victor nearly double over in pain. Coughing, hacking and desperate wheezing was all he could do, even with his room in his sights. He no longer had the strength to hold anything back, to pick himself back up or to even crawl to the safety of his hotel suite.

Tears burst from the corners of his eyes as flowers began to erupt and spill out with each cough. Victor knew there was nothing he could do to control it anymore, and he knew he was making a lot of noise, but the pain and convulsing from his chest was so bad that he couldn’t control his own body anymore. He had sadly grown used to the feeling of being powerless to stop an attack as his Hanahaki had continued to grow worse and worse. Up until then, he had usually at least had enough control to make it to safety before his body began to break down. But not tonight.

Finally, after what seemed like eons of helpless flailing and pain, Victor could feel that the worst was over, and he could almost breathe again. But just as he began to push himself back up, he felt his whole body freeze in fear as he heard a familiar voice yell from down the hallway.

“VICTOR?!?!!” Came the terrified yell of Yuri Plisetsky.

Victor’s eyes went wide and his whole body began to shudder with every reverberation of the floor from the heavy, frantic steps that were running towards him. By the sound of that shrill, fearful scream, Victor probably wasn't going to make it out of this unscathed.  

However, as quickly as those steps had approached, they suddenly stopped. Leaving only silence and a labored gasp.

Even from Victor’s cowering spot on the hotel floor, he knew that Yuri could see the flowers, the petals, and whatever other damage the disease had decided to manifest itself with today.

The silence was deafening as Victor waited for Yuuri’s inevitable anger to boil over.  

What he wasn’t expecting was the quiet, broken whisper that barely even sounded like his little feisty blond rinkmate. 

“You really are the worst, Victor. I can’t _believe_ you.”

Those words, while Victor had heard them from the teenager before, had never cut so deep. He could feel a different kind of tear begin to well up as he meekly and defeatedly looked up at Yuri from his place against the wall. 

Victor’s whole face distinctly showed the sickly pallor, and his features were jaundiced. He could barely focus his eyes; his vision was still shaken from the attack, but also blurred under the unwanted lens of tears. It took everything Victor had to focus his eyes so they didn’t go blurry again.  

When he could finally see, at least well _enough_ , it hurt Victor to his very core to see the look of betrayal written across Yuri’s face.

“Yura… wait…” His throat was on fire, but he still managed the ragged plea.

Victor couldn’t accurately name the flurry of emotions that he saw pass over Yuri’s face after he heard Victor’s feeble voice. It was somewhere between shock, horror, grief, and anger that soon shifted into full, unadulterated fury.

Within a split second, the blond stormed over to over Victor, with a look that would probably kill if Victor hadn’t already been almost dead. Then, with absolutely zero restraint, the teen bunched both of his fists into the older man’s jacket and pulled him up by his collar to bring them face to face.  

“ ** _Pizdets_** **,** Victor, you are stupid!” Yuri spat at him. Tears were already streaming down his cheeks, but based on the look of sheer hatred on his face, it was hard to believe that the teen even realized he was crying over the feeling of his own blood boiling. 

“I know” Victor replied after turning his face away from Yuri, unable to look him in the eyes. Afraid to feel the scrutiny and the daggers of his disappointment. That response didn’t satisfy him one bit. Yuri instead shook Victor’s shoulders sharply as he bared his teeth with a snarl.

“How long Victor?!? How **long**?!?!”

All Victor could do was shut his eyes tightly in a weak attempt to hide, but that resulted in another violent shake.

“I said, HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN HIDING THIS FROM ME, _MUDAK?!!!?!!?!”_

Victor couldn't be sure if the wave of nausea that hit was a result of Yuri’s piercing words, or if it was the earlier Hanahaki attack rearing its ugly head again in an attempt to kill him, but it made Victor feel sick all the same.

“Yura… can we please take this inside…?” Victor weakly replied. “I still really... feel terrible, and I —” he had to cover his mouth as a larger pang of nausea hit, before continuing to beg. “...I really don’t want to start another fit out here.”

Yuri opened his mouth and gripped the jacket tighter as if he was going to yell at Victor and shake him again. But when the sickly man in his arms, Victor fucking Nikiforov, _flinched_ and _cowered_ away from him... Yuri let go.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, and ran his hands forcefully through his hair before releasing a shaky sigh.

“Fine.” The teen didn’t even look at Victor when he said it, but instead knelt down to the floor and began picking up the flowers on the carpet to clean up any evidence. Sure, people had probably heard their screaming match if anyone was staying in those rooms, or was within a wide earshot. But as long as no one saw the flowers... It would probably be fine.

Yuri had a distressed and morose expression on his face, which was in a very sharp contrast to his outbursts from before. As he reached for each flower, he was completely silent. So unnervingly silent, that Victor could almost hear his muscles twitch as he hesitated before grabbing each one. It was almost as if he thought each of them was poisonous.

When Yuri had finally cleaned it all up, along with Victor who also did what he could despite the still very-present nausea, they both stood up wordlessly, and began walking down the hallway towards Victor’s room.

Victor paused for a second, watching the younger boy ahead of him who, in that moment looked simultaneously more mature than ever before but also as scared as a newborn kitten. He really was unreadable; and as Victor struggled to his feet and to grab his bag before following him, he really had no idea what he was walking into.

The two walked in, the uncomfortable tension still heavy in the air between them. Victor tried to remain as calm and level headed as he could while he set his suitcase down, grabbed the hotel trash can and sat down on the bed.

He watched as Yuri still wouldn’t even look in his direction, but instead walked over to the kitchen dinette and just dropped all of the flowers into the sink with some spilling onto the counter and the sink. Yuri just seemed relieved to be rid of them, and paid no mind to where they ended up, and shuffled back into the main area where Victor was. 

Still, with no indication that he even wanted to acknowledge Victor, Yuri begrudgingly leaned against the wall with his arms crossed as if to guard himself.

Victor took that as a sign that he needed to be the one to speak up first. As level-headedly as humanly possible.

“I’m sorry Yura.”

Even from across the room, Victor could see Yuri clench his fists upon hearing the diminutive, obviously not comfortable with his soft tone. He instead sighed and looked up with a forced glare directed at Victor.

“So, how long has this been going on anyway? I knew you were hiding _something_ , but Yakov just tried to play it off as just another one of your dumb whims or moods. Like everything was fine. It’s been like this pretty much all season, right? Does Yakov know?”

Victor didn’t answer.

“So, you’re lying to him too, right? You shitty bastard...”

The dig and reminder of how he was lying to and hurting everyone struck Victor’s heart with surgical precision and little mercy. But Victor still didn’t answer. He had no rebuttal. He had no excuse. There was no reason that could possibly make any sense to Yuri or would make up for his selfishness.

“So realistically... how long do you have left? And don’t try and sugar coat it, you cocksucker. I’m not some dumb, gullible kid. No matter how much you keep treating me like one...”

Victor sighed and pondered it for a second, because he really _didn’t_ know.

“I.... don’t honestly know. But...” he took in another breath. “Probably not a very long...”

Yuri _tsked_ and turned his head as far away from Victor as possible. While Victor couldn’t see his face clearly, he could tell by the reaction and the change in body language that it was most likely done to hide his reaction and possible tears.

After a few more minutes where both were unwilling to fill the thick silence, Yuri spoke up again.

“You really are a piece of work, you know...? Did you plan to just leave me alone?! After you ignored me and after you hid this from me!?”

Victor could hear his teenage voice begin to crack, but he could tell that it wasn’t from puberty. That crack was from pure betrayal. He just sighed and shook his head, before looking up at Yuri. Just like before, even though he was already so grown and so mature, Victor could still see that scared, hurt young boy. And he didn’t want to keep hurting him like this anymore.

He slowly rose from the bed, careful not to jostle his body or head too much in case it would bring on another unwanted wave of nausea. As gently as he could, Victor took a step forward, while trying not to startle the teen in front of him. To no avail, Victor found himself shocked for the second time that night, by Yuri’s pain-stricken, tear stained face. Not the tears or the expression, but by the fact that _he_ had been the cause of all that pain.

“Yura, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you. I’m sorry I couldn’t be whatever you wanted me to be — whether that was a coach or a choreographer or a —"

“Not everyone looks up to you, you know!” Yuri spat out, stopping Victor in his tracks. “I'M NOT UPSET BECAUSE I LOOK UP TO YOU, YOU ASSHOLE! I’M UPSET BECAUSE YOU'RE MY FRIEND, GOD DAMN IT!!!”

Victor just stood there — frozen — as he felt a tear that he hadn’t even realized had welled up fall down his cheek.

“This season has been so unbelievably FUCKED!” Yuri continued, before pausing again to wipe his eyes and brush his hair out of his face. “This was supposed to be my big senior debut. I just wanted was to make a name for myself, and every time I tried to approach you or ask for help... and every time I tried to see what was going on in that big, empty, bald head of yours, you just _ignored_ me!

“No matter how hard I tried, I constantly had to live in your shadow all while you LIED to me. I thought you were just going to announce that you were retiring or something dumb like that! But **NO!** You’re fucking dying of Hanahaki!!”

It was those words that cut them both to the core.

The scream turned into miserable, muffled sobs as Yuri fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands. Just like how Victor had been unable to control his attack due to the pain, it seemed like Yuri couldn’t hold back anymore due to his either.

“I-I thought that… that all I had to worry about was… that fucking Katsudon retiring… but now I have to deal with THIS!?!” He continued to cry and sob, not seeming to pay any attention to Victor who was still standing before him.

 “Wait, what.... did you just... say...?” Victor _couldn’t_ have heard him right.         

But apparently those were the words that flipped Yuri’s switch. His sobs stopped after just a few more tears and sniffs. The room remained heavy and silent as Yuri took a moment to either think over his words, or continue to think of everything that had hurt him and led up to this moment.  

“Yuuri. Your precious little _svintus_ that you never even had the balls to approach after the Grand Prix Final last year is retiring. You're both pieces of shit, it’s almost like you were made for each other. Go rot in hell…”  

Even though Victor could hear the gradual poison drain from Yuri’s voice as he went on, those words were still felt as if they would kill him with one single drop.

It felt as if Yuri was rubbing salt into the wounds, but it’s not like Victor had a chance anyway. He had blown it last year, and had given up all hopes of romance or even a friendship with anyone who wasn’t already attached to him the moment his first flower bloomed.

Memories from that fateful night a year ago flooded his memory. While he wanted to smile because it was one of the last times Victor had actually been _happy_ , he couldn’t because of all the pain the subsequent months had brought. Now, that night only symbolized regret and missed opportunities. He felt like drowning in tears, emotions and flowers. All were equally painful and well deserved deaths.

Victor just hoped that unlike him, Yuuri could retire on his own terms. That he could be happy, and live. At least for longer than he had been able to. That he could live less painfully, and find someone whom he loved... and who could make him smile just how he had made Victor smile that night.

The thought made yet another tear stream down his cheek. If he could just have _one_ more night like that, if he could just dance with Yuuri _one_ more time, and see that smile _one_ more time… well, Victor could die with one less regret.

Maybe, two less regrets.

Victor closed the distance between his still shuddering and crying friend on the floor in front of him, and knelt down next to him. Even if Yuri didn’t want anything to do with him, even if Yuri shrugged him away, Victor couldn’t go on without one last meaningful hug. Especially not when it seemed like it was what both of them needed most.

“I promise you, Yura, I’m not going to die.” Victor promised as he wrapped his arms around Yuri and buried his head against the smaller boy’s shoulder. He hadn’t realized until that moment just how touch starved he had felt. Nor how much he had prevented himself from crying. “Not yet. I swear.”  

 

* * *

 

Authors Translation and Reference Notes:

__Ganba; Chok dee krab; Davai:_ _ Good Luck in Japanese; Good Luck in Thai; Good Luck in Russian.

 _Pizdets:_ Russian curse word, akin to "fuck". (“Pizdets, Victor, you are stupid!” = "you are SO fucking stupid, Victor!")

 _MUDAK:_ Russian curse word that basically means "fucking asshole"

 _Svintus:_ a teasing term meaning pig, but also means stupid. Can also mean someone who creates a mess all the time or is sloppy. Possibly, as if he was referring to the gpf banquet last year.

 _Warhorse:_  a word used to refer to an overused song in figure skating. Examples include “Phantom of the Opera”, “Romeo and Juliet”, “Moonlight Sonata”, “Moulin Rouge”, “Firebird” and others.

 _Carmen_ : (not a translation note, but a list of other Carmen's worth watching that have happened since the time of that flashback around 2013:   
[Gabrielle Daleman](https://youtu.be/zcMc7lFmPlc) (2017)  _—_[Maxim Kovtun](https://youtu.be/blQR4WaVgSQ) (2018)  _—_[Mikhail Kolyada](https://youtu.be/EnMAmEob-jE) (2018)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and THANK YOU SO MUCH for reading and supporting this fic. I really hope that you enjoyed this chapter, especially as we near the end of this fic!
> 
> First off, I need to scream and cry and shout to the heavens about [Cirrha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartsandStuff/pseuds/HeartsandStuff)
> 
> Because for our server exchange, she created this absolutely STUNNING cover art for ASBR. I've already put it into the first chapter, and there is also a link that can be found down below, so PLEASE go follow her and look at this amazing art.
> 
> Second, if you for any reason, make any posts or art about my fic, please shoot me a message on tumblr or use the tag "YOI ASBR" so I can see and reblog your posts! (and also scream and cry along with you)
> 
> Third, last chapter, my friend Cookie ended up inspiring me to write a deleted scene for this chapter. I will be uploading it within the next few days as a part of the "A Single Blue Rose" **Series** , as well as including a link in this fic once it is up. So make sure you hit the "Series Subscribe" button so you can get notified when it's up! I promise this small Phichimetti scene should hold you over until the fic is finished and will definitely be worth it!
> 
> That brings me to my final note: this fic may be on a small hiatus/longer break than normal as I work on the final chapters. For your sanity as readers, I am working on getting Chapters 9 and 10 written and uploaded around the same time, so that there is no wait for the final chapter. I apologize, but I think you will be happier in the long run. 
> 
> Oh, _and_ while I am not 100% sure on it yet, I have a small plan to continue with this series for a small one-shot epilogue after everything is said and done. SO, that means you now have TWO reasons to subscribe to this _Series_ so that you don't miss these fics.
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your love and support. Every comment, kudos and bookmark mean the world to me, and I am so grateful that I can share this story with y'all. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my goodness, please check out this PHENOMENAL [cover art](https://66.media.tumblr.com/9f4fbfa0d6b4143329d9224780a1b8cf/tumblr_pkks4x09Mw1qjctq1_1280.jpg) that [Cirrha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartsandStuff/pseuds/HeartsandStuff) made for this fic. It is beautiful and perfect and I am still crying over it. 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at [shslartie](https://shslartie.tumblr.com/) for art, figure skating, writing and other fandom babbles
> 
> I am still clueless, but I just made a Twitter! So go follow me at , [shslshortie](https://mobile.twitter.com/shslshortie)!
> 
> Check out this amazing [Yuri!!! on ICE](https://discord.gg/wqynsA) discord server <3 Join the fam for screaming and emotions and adult struggles
> 
> Thank y'all so much for reading!!!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover Fanart for "A Single Blue Rose"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17192627) by [cirrha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cirrha/pseuds/cirrha)




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